After the Storm
by Manny Maarie
Summary: Clara meets Bruce, a man who turns out to be the most difficult client she has ever encountered. An unlikely friendship sprouts between the two, but things get bumpy when identities are revealed and life teaches them a lesson: everyone has secrets. Bruce/OC and Tony/Pepper set after the movie The Avengers
1. Chapter 1

**Act I**

**Chapter 1**

The sun was beating down hard on the already shriveled grass of Bryant park in Midtown. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and the park was, for all intents and purposes, empty. It was the fifth day in a row to break the previous day's heat record and though the first two days had been filled with sunbathing and cheering for the true arrival of summer, people were now quite over it.

Restaurants, cafes, shops and even grocery stores, anything with air conditioning really, were jammed packed with citizens fleeing the heat. The few people braving the outdoors walked quickly and with purpose. Seeing men in business suits crossing the park in long strides reminded Clara once again why she enjoyed being a woman: the day when she would be required to wear a suit would never happen.

The record breaking heat bothered Clara very little, a genetic gift from her mother's side she'd always claimed. She was stretched out on a blanket under the searing sun, book in hand. It was a trashy novel about the desperate love of a young woman who wound up dying at the end, but Clara devoured it nonetheless. A daily dose of drama never hurt anyone.

She was going through a particularly awful cliché emotional scene when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Clara looked up from her book and was surprised to see what had to be the most interesting character to cross the park since her arrival. It was a man, medium height, nearing his forties, dressed in a smart casual attire. He had a clean shaven face and soft slightly curly brown hair the front of which he whisked away from his left eye with a sharp swing of his head. Nothing about the man himself was very impressive, except for the fact that he too seemed to be unwavering under the sweltering heat.

Like his age, the temperature was nearing or had already surpassed 40 degrees Celsius and anyone dressed in long thick pants and jackets could not possibly be having a stroll...unless they were insane. But the man did not look deranged.

Much.

It was the way he slouched while dragging his feet in the dry grass, both hands stuffed in his pants' pockets, like he could not care less where he was actually heading. His eyes roamed around, alternating from staring at his brown shoes, to looking at the surrounding park, then up in the sky, and finally back down - all with a squint and a small satisfied smile on his lips. He was in no hurry, seemingly enjoying the excruciatingly hot weather for what it was: a beautiful bright sunny day.

This was not the kind of man she usually saw in Midtown.

She watched him casually, her silly book completely forgotten. Clara knew this was not something she should do. What if he looked in her direction? It was impolite to stare, dangerous even, but she really could not look away. As he neared her, still walking in a straight line about ten meters away, she saw him tense up as if he had sensed something.

He drew taller, his squint became a frown and he turned his head to look away from her over his right shoulder. Seeing nothing he turned back and resumed staring at his feet, then around, and finally he made eye contact with her.

Clara had tried really to look away, or so she told herself.

He seemed surprised to see her, or rather, surprised to see her looking at him. Either way his eyebrows went up slightly and then his face froze for a moment as if unsure which expression would be appropriate for this particular moment. Clara opted for the deer in the headlight look. He was still walking away, but as he moved his eyes remained glued on her. He attempted a half smile.

Suddenly it was too much to bare and with a furious blush she looked away, hiding her smiling face behind her stupid novel. She counted to five in her head, more than long enough for any normal person to look away and return to pretending that no other human beings lived around them, but he was apparently not normal.

Luckily when she caught his eyes this time he turned his head away, though she imagined it would have become difficult for him to keep walking otherwise. As he moved further toward 6th Avenue she craned her neck to watch him exit the park. He climbed down the step toward the fountain and was about to disappear behind one of the table's umbrellas when he stopped. Turned around. And looked at her again.

She was wearing a broad smile now and when he collected his hand from the depths of his pocket to give her the most awkward of waves, she waved back. For a moment she was terrified that he might actually double back and come talk to her; she was nuts for doing this, honestly. But a second later he was gone.

Suddenly feeling deflated she fell back onto her blanket and giggled.

"That was very silly," she said to no one at all.

She attempted to pick up her book and continue reading, but failed to immerse herself back in the over-sexualized trash writing. She picked up her smartphone from the blanket to check the time, 3:00pm - still a long time before work started.

Oh well, she thought, it'll only mean that she'll look extra nice for the evening. It was, after all, a very special occasion tonight.

Taking her time, Clara began to pack up her things into her rucksack. It was a short walk to Times Square - 42 station, about a block, but the heat made it feel like like an eternity. Unmoving on a blanket, the day's heat had been tolerable, but walking around with nothing but asphalt and concrete around her reflecting the heat made her feel like a roasting chicken. By the time she reached the dark tunnels of the metropolitan subway, her feet felt as if they were on fire. Wearing thin sandals had apparently been a mistake.

The subway was its usual disgusting self, only with more poignant body odor in the air. Luckily she was only a few stations away and barely fifteen minutes later she emerged in the dusty summer air once again. She lived on 56th street, on the top floor of a 23 story building. Gorgeous place with an overview of Central Park which had cost her more money than she had ever dreamed of ever earning in her life. In fact she had been quite shocked while looking to buy a place when she realized exactly how much a bank was willing to loan her. Math was not Clara's forte, she earned enough, spent often and saved the rest.

The elevator led her to a tiny corridor with only one door, her own place. Owning the entire floor was very comfortable. No noisy neighbours, no random people walking about the hallways (you needed a special key card to reach the penthouse), and just a general huge place all to herself.

The loft was spacious and open, she had torn down nearly all walls in order to create a unified home with only a few divisions as required. The far wall was a single huge window with a spectacular view of the park, and the middle of the room was dominated by a circular staircase leading up to a terrace on the roof. Clara dropped her stuff on the bench near the entryway before moving into the kitchen to her right. As the evening promised to be filled with much alcohol, a proper snack was in order. She would not want to be drunk after her first glass of wine.

Cooking, showering, dressing, all at a leisurely pace which suited Clara just fine. She disliked rushing. At 7pm sharp the doorman rang up to let her know that her ride had arrived. She answered saying that she was going to be right down, put on a pair of newly purchased black sling pumps, and left the place. Wearing a tiny silver dress with an open back and low cut dress which showed a healthy amount of cleavage, she knew she was quite the sight.

It was her job to look amazing.

On the street a black limousine was waiting, inside five other women just as glamorously dressed ushered her in. She was the last one to be picked up as she lived closest to their final destination: Stark Tower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

Stark Tower, from the outside at least, was finally looking like it's old shiny self again. As he made one last round Tony decided that the construction crew had in fact done an impeccable job. He might even let Pepper convince him to give them a bonus for speed and quality. But only if she used some of her special convincing skills on him again. He was certain she would one day catch on to his scheme of making her convince him of things he had already made up his mind about, but he was still safe for now.

Landing on the top floor of the tower, JARVIS began to rid him of the armoured suit and update him on the impending party. "Sir, the catering company has called and informed that there will not be any crab this evening."

"Unacceptable. I love crab."

"I'm afraid their supply has spoiled."

"Fire them and get another company."

"Sir, the party begins in less than an hour."

"Make it happen JARVIS, I want that crab! There is no party without crab."

"As you say, sir."

Inside the room Tony made his way to the bar and poured himself a generous portion of whiskey, there was no way he was going to plunge into the party without prior inebriation. He stared at the room unmoving for a moment. It always unnerved him slightly, the memory of Loki standing there refusing to drink. Having no armour between him and the madman. Being thrown off the balcony...

To counter these thoughts Tony had forbidden the repair team from touching the giant hole in the ground where Bruce had beaten the Asgardian demi-god bloody. The man-sized depression now had a red velvet security rope around it and a plaque that read: Puny God.

He smirked.

"You can't POSSIBLY fire the catering company now. They already have half the food set up!"

Pepper stormed into the room, dressed to kill, her fiery hair bouncing like a mane behind her. He watched her long legs move gracefully as she walked toward him, enjoying the way her already short skirt rode up a little with every step she took. He wondered if she would object to being stripped naked right now and how long it would take her to dress up again before the party started. Not that they really needed to be present when the party started, did they?

"Tony!"

He lifted his eyes to meet her glare. "Hmm? Sorry I wasn't listening, your legs were distracting me."

Pepper was the embodiment of _flattery will get you nowhere_. His comment didn't even weaken the glare one tiny bit. He shrugged, "They don't have crab. No crab, no party."

"They are sending double the lobster and almost triple the shrimp as compensation!"

"Those aren't crab."

She stared at him with this gorgeous look of complete disbelief for a moment before turning around and walking away. Whatever she might have been saying while leaving the room fell on completely deaf ears as Tony was now able to enjoy the sight of her small behind wriggling in the tight black dress.

He told himself that no matter what hassle it may be, he should have fancy soirees much more often if only to get Pepper to wear these dresses. Speaking of which, he would need to dress soon as well. A suit, a bowtie, the usual glamour - it was hard not to look good really.

They were expecting over 200 guests, which was technically quite a small party, but Stark Tower was not ready to host a bigger event and he felt that pushing it back further would just make the entire thing feel forced. It was a birthday party for Pepper mixed with a Stark Tower rebuilding fest and also a general gathering to honour the loss of lives during the attack three months prior. His fellow dysfunctional circle of friends, also known as the Avengers, should really be here as well, but he and Pepper had agreed that it would be too risky.

He'd mention them in some speech and thank them, they'd hear about it in the papers.

At least Bruce would be there, not that this would liven up the party in any way shape or form. The man was terrified of alcohol and not very keen to allow himself to have a good time.

Tony had a plan though.

"JARVIS, is Bruce back yet?"

"Doctor Banner returned about twenty minutes ago."

"Where'd he go?"

"I'm afraid I do not know."

Useless, he thought. Bruce was turning out to be quite the enigma. The two men did get along great, and Tony was thrilled to be able to speak to another human being about his theories and ideas without being gaped at. JARVIS was a great AI, but he lacked a certain...imagination. Pepper on the other hand had brought humanity to his life which Tony had never known he really needed, but though she was brilliant at organization and brainstorming the simple things, she was not a physicist or engineer.

Bruce was the other half he had always craved.

Not only did the doctor give him a run for his money when it came to science, but he himself posed one of the biggest enigmas Tony had ever faced: How to cure the Hulk! He was no medical doctor. Well, not until two weeks ago when he had dived into the world of medicine; still this was something he could really sink his teeth into. Theories, calculations, experimentations - throw it all away and start from scratch. And in order to find the cure for his condition Bruce was willing to go all the way, including self-experimentation - not that this was very surprising considering the man's history. Bruce was not willing to give up, no matter how many failures they encountered.

Tony's respect for the anger beast continued to grow exponentially despite his best effort to cap it.

Still, the man needed to loosen up.

And that was precisely the goal of this small gathering. Tony had a plan of action, and he would be damned if it failed.

"Sir, the first guests are arriving."

Early bastards, he thought. Tony quickly finished knotting his bowtie and fastened his favourite watch before heading downstairs. The reception hall they would be using was small, but connected to a comfortable terrace with a decorative pool and cozy lighting. It was the best he could provide under the circumstances. Almost everything between the bottom four floors and the top 3 was a mess. A mess which concluded in a multi-billion dollar investment gone to hell and other innumerable piles of cash to be reinvested into the place. His company had suffered greatly.

Though this ordeal might have driven most businessmen to give up on the building entirely, Tony had seen it as an opportunity. This was not Stark Tower anymore, really - it was Avengers Tower. Not that the name and nature had been officially changed, but Tony had decided to leave a certain mark behind: a simple _A_ now stood illuminated alone on the tower. Most folks thought of it as a commemoration of the invasion, and just as well. He would publicly support this claim, but privately he told the truth: it was a sign of respect, trust, and most of all belief. Belief in what he had once shunned and turned his back on. Belief in a group of people he would die for, and in fact he had almost done exactly that.

To tell the truth Pepper had convinced him to keep the _A_...with unbelievable convincing techniques.

"Madam Nevian's girls are now arriving."

"Oh good! I'll be right down, tell 'em to wait in the entryway. And get Bruce there too."

It was a quick way down to the level two reception area. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out into a small group of absolutely gorgeous women. He knew each and every single one's name, had picked them single handedly ages ago from Pepper's recommendations, and called on them often enough to have a special rate with the escort company. He personally had a few favourites though unlike what some people might think, not all of which he had invited to his bed in the past. He supposed it was big of Pepper to allow him to invite these women still; he suddenly had a moment of deep and immeasurable admiration for the woman he loved...and then he noticed miniskirts.

"Ladies!"

Six faces turned simultaneously to him and squealed a "Tony!" which broadened the already huge grin on his face. He would definitely miss this if Pepper ever changed her mind. He proceeded to kiss each of them on the cheek, coming up with some kind of compliment or joke as he did so. When he reached Clara he whispered, "Oh good, you went for the kill tonight. I've got something special for you."

She smirked, "And _who_ is this someone special?"

Right on cue the elevators opened again and Bruce stepped out into the hall. He was dressed sharply, but nothing over the top. No matter what Tony had attempted, Bruce refused to wear ties or bowties, neither did he tolerate jewelry or fancy belt buckles. Honestly the physical man was damned boring, his only gift was his mind...and the whole green mountain of death thing which he thankfully did not use against Tony.

Much.

While the other women had begun to scatter in the direction of the terrace, Tony guided Clara toward the good doctor. And then something happened which he had not expected.

"Well then," Clara said with a smile, "I certainly did not expect to see you again."

Bruce frowned in confusion for a moment before his eyes opened up in recognition and he smiled back. Tony was confused.

"Wait, you know each other?" This certainly brought up a whole different picture in Tony's mind as to where Bruce had been earlier today. Never before had he possibly thought that Bruce might be interested in some expensive entertainment. He turned to Clara, "I thought you didn't really work the private sector?"

The woman blushed beautifully. Really, only Clara Larson could legitimately blush on the topic of prostitution considering her line of work.

"We don't actually know each other. Today in Bryant Park, he was taking a walk."

Tony was still confused.

"So you guys met and talked in a park?"

"Eh, not so much talking was involved," Bruce said as he fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his cyan shirt.

"Alright, alright. I don't even wanna know, you know? Guys really, way to ruin introductions. I had a speech prepared too. But since you're already great buddies, I'll leave the two of you to it. Enjoy the alcohol, food might be late due to a severe crab incident. But there are peanuts in the meantime."

As he stepped away from the elevator area, he heard the two of them introducing themselves and turned to see a slight shaking of hands. Clara motioned the reception area and Bruce had the decency to offer her his arm.

The man was not hopeless after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The small woman at his side clung to his arm firmly while still keeping a slight distance between their two bodies for which Bruce was thankful. It's not that he completely despised physical contact, but he was also not very comfortable being so close to complete strangers. He had thought about not offering Clara his arm at all, but this was a fancy party and he was probably expected to show some manners.

He found her to be dressed nicely enough, though a bit too revealing for his taste. Her dark hair billowed around her shoulders as she walked and he noticed a certain restraint on her makeup and jewelry choices. Compared to the other women he had seen when the elevator doors had opened, she was quite modestly attired.

He would have remained silent the entire walk, but she had different plans.

"Do you work for Mr Stark?"

Bruce chuckled and shook his head slightly, "Err, not exactly no. But we're associates of sorts."

She beamed up at him with a gorgeous smile and appeared completely satisfied with his cryptic answer. Well at least she wasn't nosy. They stepped outside and continued toward the tables in silence. After a moment she spoke up again.

"Are you from New York?"

"From California actually."

"Really? I never would have guessed that."

They had arrived at one of the larger round tables now where Pepper and Tony were already seated as well. Inside the plates of two seats was a name sign which read _Dr. Banner +1._ He looked over at Tony with a frown, but the man merely lifted his glass toward him before drinking.

Clara stepped forward and took the seat next to Tony, allowing Bruce to sit somewhat further away. He was growing suspicious of the man, why would he put him with a stranger? Tony ignored his questioning gaze and instead turned to his "+1" with a broad smile.

"It really has been too long Clara. I've missed you."

Bruce noticed the woman beside him shift in her seat and did not miss on the look that passed between her and Pepper. It was not that Pepper's gaze was outright hostile, but there was a hint of warning to it. He wished people would tell him exactly what was going on instead of him having to find out last.

"Well Mr. Stark," Clara replied politely, "you've had much better things to do than host grandiose parties lately. It's good to see you two again though, and Pepper I suppose you are the one to thank for the incredible work which has been done on the tower since the attack?"

"I only shuffled the paperwork," the woman said modestly.

Bruce was impressed by his impromptu _plus one_, this was someone who spoke a language he never could: social. The two women fell into an excited discussion of decor, style, furniture and a multitude of other things in which he knew absolutely nothing. They ignored him completely, which was just as well. Tony stood after watching the two discuss with a cryptic smile for a while and headed for the bar without a single look toward Bruce. He did not mind much, Tony knew he disliked drinking and the man did have multitude of people to catch up with during this party.

So Bruce sat in silence and ate from a small bowl of peanuts.

His thoughts floated to what he had been doing before the interruption of his required presence at the party. Tony and he had been working on setting up a laboratory which would suit both men's research of choice - a cure for the Hulk, and further advances to the clean energy solutions Tony had already begun.

It was strange for Bruce to fall back into a working environment with near unlimited funds. He was used to making ends meet with outdated equipment or no equipment at all. India had affected the way he conducted research, for the better, but now he could go back to acquiring the best and most advanced tools. It was difficult to get used to it once again and more often than not Tony was the one who made orders and populated their shared work space.

Working with the owner of Stark Industries had proven quite interesting so far. They were certainly on almost equal ground when it came to scientific knowledge, but in terms of research methods they were complete polar opposites. Bruce's mind had a laser-like focus, he worked on a single problem and hammered away at it until it was resolved. Tony on the other hand was like a cat on crack, as likely to cure cancer as he was to prove the existence of parallel dimensions while initially having sat down to work on energy sources.

Tony also had a tendency to become easily distracted with things outside the lab which also required his attention. Such as running his company, having a serious relationship with Pepper, and of course: hosting parties.

It took Bruce some time to realize that the peanut bowl was empty and the table had fallen silent. When he bothered to look around he found all seats empty except for his and Clara's. He started folding and unfolding the napkin in front of him and asked, "Have they been gone long?"

She shrugged one of her exposed white shoulders, "A few minutes. I believe Pepper needs to get Tony ready for his speech. Where ready actually means preventing him from getting too drunk before then."

"I'm sorry," he said while folding the napkin in an hexagon, "I'm not really a conversationalist."

"Oh, well, you hide it really well."

He laughed somewhat before looking up at her face to make sure she was not making fun of him. Her red lips were parted into a broad grin and her brown eyes were devoid of any malice, a woman of good humour then. Bruce was comfortable with self-deprecation but he tended to make sure people around him were not having a laugh at his expense.

Clara picked up one of the cards with his name on it.

"So you're a doctor?"

"Not a medical one."

She nodded and replaced the card on the table. Though she showed no real sign of annoyance, Bruce began to feel bad for his lack of informational forthcoming.

"I studied nuclear physics."

Her eyes grew wide, "I see, associate of Mr. Stark alright. I'm going to take a wild guess and say you can probably hold your own against the Iron Man genius."

He cocked his head to the side and grinned, thinking of the multiple ways he could interpret that sentence. He was curious though, "What makes you say that?"

"Well," she leaned forward wrapping her hands together on the table, "He doesn't go through much trouble for most people, in fact he seems to disregard most of us unless we serve some purpose. But for some, he goes that extra mile. Some he really values."

"And you think I'm one of them?"

"I'd say he told me so himself. In his own words."

Bruce looked back down to his now triangular napkin and thought about Tony. A few years ago Bruce would have said that Tony was the embodiment of everything he had ever wanted to be, and in some ways that was still true. But he had come to terms with himself by now, and having Tony has a friend certainly was much more important to him than becoming the next Stark. His ambitions had died over the past two years, except maybe for one.

"How about you? Are you one of the chosen few?"

She laughed, "Dear god no. He likes me enough to remember my name and for that I count myself lucky. For a time I earned most of my money from his parties, to a point where I even exclusively worked for him."

He frowned, unsure what to make of the information. Obviously this woman was being paid to be here, to be with him. The napkin disappeared into his fist as he crushed the life out of it; did Tony think him so pathetic that he needed to hire a prostitute for him?

He glared at the seat reservation card with his name on it. More like: _Dr. Banner with a generously paid + 1_.

"Excuse me," he stood up abruptly without a glance in her direction and headed straight for the bar.

Tony was in a heated discussion with Pepper, but Bruce did not care. The two hushed as he approached.

"Can I talk to you?"

"This sounds familiar..." Tony looked from Pepper to Bruce, "Are you guys working together now?"

Pepper lifted her hands in resignation, "Honestly, maybe you _can_ deal with him. I'm going to check on the catering."

Tony watched his once upon a time assistant walk away before turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey, one of which was promptly shoved in Bruce's hand. He looked at it with disdain.

"Drink first, then we talk."

Bruce hesitated, this was certainly a ploy by Tony and very possibly a bluff. But the man was known to be eccentric and he was in fact now quite drunk. If Bruce ever understood anything from people around him claiming they _needed a drink_, then this was certainly a time when he himself could use one. And so he swallowed the thing whole.

Tony's eyebrows shot up.

"Ooookay, another one for him! So whaddya want?"

Bruce pointed to the still sitting Clara, "Who is she?"

"Clara! I thought she introduced herself, or that you already knew her? Some _park_ thing?" he winked and sipped from his glass.

"Why is she here?"

"To cheer you up! You've been locked up in this damned Tower since you moved here. I thought some company which wasn't mine would help diversify things. Not that I'm not awesome...but I'm not, you know, for that." Tony was looking at Bruce with a strange frown which made him quite unforgettable, as if Tony was currently analyzing something deep within himself. Abruptly the look was gone and the man claimed, "Besides, there's Pepper!"

Bruce was at a complete loss. When the second glass was pushed between his fingers he tipped it in his mouth without even blinking. Tony was trying to get him laid?

He was formulating some kind of moral and general _really not interested_ complaint when Tony suddenly stood and walked away. Bruce watched him go and heard him yell something about crab. He supposed the food had finally arrived. Looking down at his hand and the empty glass it contained, he wondered how drunk a man could get on an empty stomach with two double whiskeys.

Hopefully not much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Another Saturday, another chapter. Thanks again for all my great beta readers and the random people I babbled with for hours concerning this story and its plot. Also, many thanks for all the lovely reviews you folks have left behind, they mean a lot to me.

**Chapter 4**

"Excuse me," Dr. Banner said without a glance in her direction before standing up abruptly.

Clara's gaze was glued on the strange doctor's back as he left the table in direction of the bar where he approached their host. The two men were too far away for her to hear anything, but she watched their movements, expressions, and particularly Dr. Banner's uncomfortable posture. When he downed the first glass of alcohol she raised a groomed eyebrow in surprise, when he sank the second her mouth hung open and the image she had been constructing of the doctor fell apart, leaving her to start from scratch.

Clara had rarely been this frustrated with a client.

Had the man been boring and lame she could have shrugged him off, but under the surface of his twitchy demeanor she was certain Dr. Banner hid an incredible story. And Clara lived for stories. It was one of the main reasons she enjoyed her work so much.

Over the years she had collected hundreds of stories from all around the world attached to all types of men, and even women. She had gotten very good at reading people, adapting to new situations and morphing herself into the perfect partner for almost anyone.

Unfortunately she was failing horribly right now.

The only thing that cheered her up was the thought that no matter if this man liked her or not, she could get paid for her work tonight. Mr. Stark had not put any condition to the payment for the night. Go to the party, be entertaining, and go home. There had been no details on accompanying anyone specific and it was only as a favour to Mr. Stark that she would, of course, stick to his associate.

She waited to see if Dr. Banner would come back to the table, but when he remained at the bar even after Mr. Stark left, she stood to join him. The terrace was buzzing with life now, the buffet was finally being populated with food and most of the guests had managed to get a few drinks in their systems. At the far back, near the edge of the rooftop, a band was assembling. Clara thought about ignoring the lonesome figure and simply continuing the night with food and other men, but something drew her to the greying curly haired stranger.

"I'm not used to being abandoned at the table," she said as she leaned against the bar besides him.

He turned his dark eyes to her, pupils dilated, his brow furrowed and his expression somewhat hostile. Had he really only had two drinks?

"And I'm not used to having women bought for me!"

She shut her mouth and stared at him in shock. There had been, once, an incident where a generous father had purchased his son three escorts, including herself, and the entire evening had ended in disaster when the boy had admitted to being openly gay. The sneer and derision he had shown not only his father, but herself and the other women, had taken Clara completely by surprise. She'd been hurt, admittedly, and promised herself to always make sure the recipient of her services were well aware of what she was and why she was there.

Oops, was all she could think.

If she was honest with herself, Clara now wanted to do nothing more but leave this dark person alone and run away to someone else. And why not? He obviously was not interested in having any company.

"Excuse me," she said brusquely and made to move away from him, but he held out his arm in her path. In his hand she saw a poor abused coaster bent in multiple places until it had been tamed into the shape of a six pointed star, she turned to his face as he spoke.

"No, sorry, that was rude. It's not your fault."

Clara forced a smile on her lips, pushed her waist against his outstretched arm, and walked away as soon as he dropped it. She headed to the buffet, picked out a variety of things she recognized and not, before heading back to her table. Only Pepper was seated, which was a relief, Clara was not sure if she could eat while sitting next to a man who wanted to have nothing to do with her. She noticed that the redhead's eyes flickered toward the bar every so often not long after Clara had settled down. Finally Pepper asked: "Is Bruce drinking?"

"A glass or two," she shrugged and dug in.

Pepper's eyes grew wide and a second later she leaped out of her chair and rushed away. Clara was now at a complete loss. She turned to see the smaller woman head straight for Mr. Stark. A lot of arm waving and an angry discussion ensued, until the exchange concluded with Pepper shoving her boyfriend in the direction of the bar. Mr. Stark dragged his feet and maybe a series of exasperated expressions, but he did approach Dr. Banner.

Clara put her fork back onto the table and stared, fascinated.

There was a heated argument, she could hear their voices but not make out any words. Dr. Banner was the one to walk away first, in direction of the doors to the Tower with the second man following closely. He was near the pool when he turned back toward Mr. Stark abruptly, Pepper was hanging back looking terrified. Clara stood and walked quickly toward the woman, she reached her just time to see Dr. Banner swing his right fist into a perfect arc and punch Iron Man square in the jaw. Mr. Stark lost balance, stumbled two feet backward and went crashing into the pool.

Pepper stifled a scream with one hand, the other clenched around Clara's hand tightly and suddenly both women were running toward the scene. Dr. Banner was staring at his hand with a confused look on his face, which Clara thought to be a good sign.

Letting go of her hand, Pepper turned to her, "Take him home!"

While Pepper and a few others gathered around the pool, Clara headed straight for the attacker.

"Let's get you inside," she dragged him by the left arm before he was fully aware of her presence and he followed her meekly without a word. Behind them she could hear the crowd act up, and a moment later the sound of a man coughing violently. She glanced over her shoulder and was happy to see Pepper cradling a soaked Mr. Stark on her lap.

She shoved her partner inside the doors and continued to walk until they were at the elevators, where she hit the down button and waited in silence. Dr. Banner said nothing. Once the doors were open she pushed him inside and keyed in the G. His silence was unnerving. She glanced at him but he seemed almost catatonic.

When they stepped out into the ground floor lobby he finally spoke.

"I've never done that. I've never punched anyone."

She glanced at him while still leading them toward the exit. "Well then, it was quite the strike for a beginner."

He scoffed and she breathed a sigh of relief, laughter of any kind was good.

They were outside now and a bored taxi driver was already waiting at the exit to take guests back to their homes. A bit early, she thought, but wouldn't complain. She shoved the man into the back seat and forced him to scoot back as she followed after. A rough voice greeted them.

"Right, where to then?"

She smiled at the taxi driver and turned to Dr. Banner. A second ticked by, then another, finally she cleared her throat.

"Doctor Banner? What's your home address? Or hotel maybe?"

The man was silent and seemed oblivious to her question. The taxi driver drummed his fingers against the wheel. Clara felt her heart sink, this had been a bad idea. She touched the doctor's shoulder and he turned his head in her direction, lifting his eyes away from his hand to peer at her face. He seemed completely unaware of where he was. She took in a deep breath.

The driver was growing impatient.

"Look lady, where are you going?"

She should step out, bring him back inside in the care of Pepper or anyone else at the party. Had the receptionist been sitting inside? She couldn't even remember. Clara replayed Pepper's words as they had split, trying to think if she had maybe misunderstood or missed something.

Take him home.

She sighed, "230 West 56th Street, please."

The man nodded and the car jolted forward. She was going to regret this. It was by far the silliest thing she had ever done for a client.

She would, in fact, take him home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Another thousand thank you's to what has become my army of Beta readers. Your feedback, criticism, and support means the world.

**Chapter 5**

The air was warm and smelled of fresh flowers and lemons. The bed he was currently lying face down on was soft, cozy, and definitely not his own. Bruce opened his eyes to find an unfamiliar decor. He examined the mahogany bedside table and the windows beyond it for a second before turning onto his side to observe the room some more.

He could see nothing but a continuous window from floor to ceiling which was covered with thick wooden blinds. He became painfully aware of a growing headache and with it the realization that his throat was parched and his stomach incredibly queasy.

He groaned, trying to push down the pain and turned onto his back in one heavy move which made the bed under him squeak. As he did so, his right arm came in contact with something fleshy and warm which then proceeded to utter a series of unintelligible noises.

Bruce sprung out of bed.

His mild headache exploded into a universe of pounding Thor hammers and his stomach did a somersault. Blankets went flying around his ankles as he stumbled onto the floor - only to crash into a window three footsteps later.

He fell backward on the floor like a log.

"Oh my god!"

He heard the flutter of naked feet on wodden floor and into his field of vision appeared a familiar face.

"Are you alright?"

His breathing was laboured, his head was now nothing but a ball of hurt. He could feel the beast deep within his psyche stirring. Through clenched teeth, he managed to hiss at her: "Peachy."

She let out a breath of relief and chuckled, "Yes, you look it too. Come on."

He allowed her to help him up and guide him back to the unusually low bed where he collapsed like a rag doll.

"Wait here."

There was no way he could do otherwise. Bruce cursed inwardly at his own stupidity, and then threw out another series intended for Stark. Why did the man work so hard at making him miserable? He closed his eyes and imagined a multitude of different ways he might be able to get back at the billionaire.

He heard the woman return and say, "Here."

Suddenly something frozen was pressed against his skull and his eyes flew open, "Christ!"

"I know, I know. But it'll help. Else that thing will swell up like a melon."

She sat down on the bed and stared at him with concern. Bruce adjusted the ice pack against his head and held her gaze. Concentrating on her was a good way to distract himself from the rage he currently felt. As he lay there in a stranger's bed, it began to dawn on him that he should probably also be asking himself a very important question: why was he here at all?

"Doctor Banner, correct?"

He nodded and ran a sticky tongue over his cracked lips. "Yeah, and you were...uhm..." Why were his thoughts so fuzzy, this was humiliating.

"Clara," she offered with a smirk.

"I knew that," he mumbled. "God, I haven't felt like this in...never."

The woman gave him a skeptical look, "Really? You've never been hung over?"

"Honestly it doesn't seem like I was missing out on much."

She chuckled, "Do you drink coffee, doctor?"

"Quite a lot of it, actually"

She smiled and left, and Bruce attempted to piece together the events of last night. The first thing he truly was certain of was that he owed Tony a good talking to. Honestly the man was enough of a menace on his own without being allowed to toy around with the Hulk. Maybe staying in New York had been a bad idea after all. What if in a drunken stupor he had transformed? Killed people?

And exactly what had he done in a drunken stupor?

Thoughts of other things which may have happened which he did not want to happen came to mind. He checked himself quickly; all clothes accounted for. Clara had also been mostly clothed, a sign which hopefully ruled out drunken and disorderly sex.

Hopefully.

Clara returned with a hot coffee mug which she placed on the bedside table before sitting down on the bed once again with her own steaming mug. Bruce lifted himself to rest against the headboard and reached for the coffee. The dark haired woman took a sip and looked at him with a smile. He cleared his throat and picked at imaginary fuzz balls on his pants before blurting out the question.

"So uhm, did we? You know?"

"Oh god no," she said shaking her head and waving a hand at him.

And they said flattery was dead.

Suddenly Clara grew wide-eyed and began stumbling for words.

"No, no. Not that you're not...you know? Looking...good. Right. Or anything, or that it's like that. Or...Dear god."

She slapped a hand over her eyes, hiding a furious blush.

"It's fine, I get it. Honestly. And thanks for the coffee."

She peered at him between her fingers before slumping and gripping her mug with both hands.

"No, you don't," she said in a quiet voice while avoiding his eyes. Bruce was trying to unite the sharp contrast of the paid woman he had met last night with this coy girl now sitting in front of him. She continued, "I don't have men over here, ever. And what I'm trying to say, and failing so very horribly at it, is that, you know..."

"Really, you don't have to explain," he cut in with what he measured to be a calm, comforting voice. His thoughts were beginning to clear, his headache downgraded to a tolerable annoyance, and leaving this place as soon as possible was defining itself as priority number one on his list of things to do.

"Stop!" Clara snapped angrily, "Interrupting me." She lifted her near black eyes and glared at him, and Bruce shut his mouth tightly. "Please," she added after a moment.

Bruce was at a complete loss as to what this woman could want from him. She had no interest in him, and neither did he. Somehow he had made his way over to her place in a drunken haze and now he would go home, kill Tony, and hopefully forget about the entire thing in a week or two. What issue could she possibly have with this plan? He sipped from his cup again and began glancing around the spacious, brightly lit and expensively furnished bedroom.

Clara took a deep breath, he felt like rolling his eyes at her, but instead he put down his mug and began to fiddle with the worn skin around his thumb.

"Yesterday was a working evening. I was paid by Mr. Stark to attend the celebration, just like the other women I arrived with." Now Bruce did roll his eyes, did she think he was daft? But another frigid glare silenced any comment he might have made. "It was an escort only job Doctor Banner, not a prostitution one. And certainly not a take the client home one either. I don't mix work with pleasure. I only took you over here because you seriously needed to get away from the party else you and Mr. Stark might have just killed each other."

"What?" He was flabbergasted and furious that he could not remember anything. This woman could be lying, true, but why would she? He searched her face, but found no trace of humour or deceit, "How do you mean?"

"You punched him. Hard! He fell in the pool, your hand," she picked up his right hand which he now noticed was scrapped. "Self-proclaimed first time punching someone. I dragged you away before Mr. Stark could get out, Pepper begged me to take you home. But you shut down, wouldn't say a word as to where home was. So I took you here."

Bruce stared at her wide eyed. She had absolutely no idea the danger she had put herself in. Honestly, even without his Jekyll and Hyde syndrome, who took a drunken disorderly man to their bed? He was torn between awe and fright at the women's audacity.

"Thank you," he said as he squeezed her hand gently.

She smiled awkwardly and slipped her hand away, before turning her attention to her now mostly empty mug. "Listen, if this really is your first hangover, then you need an expert to help you out and I just happen to be one."

He scoffed and looked the strange woman over. She was disheveled, her dark brown hair erupting wildly in all directions, her dress was crinkled and her black stockings were ripped in multiple places. Whatever they had or hadn't done last night, it certainly seemed to have been physical.

"Sounds reasonable. Also, anything you could possibly tell me about last night...would be appreciated."

"Of course, it's not that bad, don't worry. I've seen a lot worse," her smile was still pretty despite the faded lipstick still sticking to her mouth. "I'd like to invite you to breakfast then, I'll cook."

Homemade breakfasts, he couldn't remember the last time someone had made one of those for him. Aside from eating at Stark Tower, he had not made many house visits in the past few years. He would have been more comfortable rushing back to the safety of Tony's abode, but refusing would just be rude, and so he nodded while reaching for his mug.

"Excellent! You'll need to wash up first, a shower will do wonders for the headache I guarantee."

He choked on the coffee.

"No, no. Really, that will not be necessary. I'll head home after and do that there." He wondered how far Stark Tower was.

"Nonsense. That's the bathroom," she pointed at a leaned-to door in the bedroom. "You won't be able to enjoy proper food till you scrub the night away."

He shook his head and chuckled, but the woman was adamant.

"Trust me."

He looked up into her face and something about her dark eyes crushed the last of his already weakening resolve. He was too out of sorts for an argument.

"Alright, sure."

She beamed at him, making Bruce wonder if he had just accepted something more than just a shower. He had never known someone to be so happy about a stranger cleaning themselves in their bathroom. Then again, he had never met a woman who would take a drunken, angry Hulk to bed either. She stood and offered her hand to help him get up, he took it and stated bluntly: "You're very unusual."

She laughed, "Yeah, I'm Canadian."

"That explains everything."

Clara smiled broadly, took a step back and pointed again to the door, "The towels are in the cupboard, and there's a robe hanging behind the door if you need it. I'll start on breakfast."

Bruce watched her walk away, noticing for the first time that the apartment had very few walls. The bedroom was open to the living room, which continued on to the dinning room all bordered on the left by the same window wall he had crashed into. It gave the place a unique outdoors feeling, more so because of the heavily forested balcony which he could see outside. He turned back toward where Clara had disappeared, one of the only walls around aside from the bathroom, and he guessed it must be the kitchen.

Bruce stepped toward the bathroom, but instead of going in he peaked around the corner to the right side of the flat. A large spiral staircase dominated the middle of the open space, and beyond it he could see the exit. He spotted his shoes neatly stored on a pristine beige carpet, and his brown jacket hanging on the wall beside the door. It would be so easy to walk away.

But the sounds of running water, pans and pots being handled, and the oven fan starting made him stop. He had accepted an invitation, running away was out of the question. Steeling his nerves he walked into the immense bathroom and closed the door behind him.

He would take a shower.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for you continued support and feedback. Enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

If there was ever a beautiful morning to have breakfast on Clara's terrace, it was today. The cool breeze made the heat from the rising sun tolerable without being strong enough to blow everything off the table. She was making her last trip up the spiral staircase with a second tray of food when she heard the door to her bathroom open.

"Up here Doctor Banner," she called before disappearing upstairs.

She was filling their plates with eggs and bacon and ham when she saw a wet mop of black curls poking out from the roof hatch. A second later the doctor emerged, mouth gaping and eyes wide as he took in her secret garden.

Clara felt a surge of pride at the shock on the man's face. Her terrace was more than just a rooftop with a table, it was a veritable living ecosystem, lush with plants and flowers and trees. She had done half the work herself after an excellent landscape architect had laid down the foundation for her little paradise. She even had a vegetable and fruit garden where she grew her own produce, unfortunately none of which were ripe enough to be included in her cooking yet.

"You like it?" She was certain he did, but she wanted to hear it.

"It's...very impressive," he said as he finally walked up the final step onto the roof. He stood still for a moment, still looking around while she busied herself with their breakfast.

Once finished she turned to find him walking toward the edge of the building slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets and his quickly drying curls playing in the wind. He squatted down to examine her small tomato plants, carefully taking a single leaf between his fingers as if to make sure the whole thing was real.

She quickly made sure her fresh clothes and tied up hair were presentable before she approached him.

"I'm guessing you're a gardening man?"

He let go of the plant and shook his head, "Not as such, no. Physicists tend spend their whole days in laboratories."

"Oh, right," Clara cocked her head to the side, "So you don't garden at all?"

"Never have," he stood, smiling and followed her back toward the breakfast table.

"Really? Never? Didn't your mom garden with you as a kid?"

He opened his mouth but hesitated, after a moment he gave her a distant smile. He looked away then and she knew immediately that she had lost ground in their social exchange.

"Please, eat up Doctor," she cringed at her tone of voice, she sounded positively exasperated. Not the best way to treat a guest.

He pulled out his chair and sat down quietly. She noticed his fiddling with the tablecloth, she felt that at any moment he might jump off the chair and run away. Clara was so focused on watching his fingers fold and unfold the edge of the white fabric that she didn't register his next words.

"Excuse me?" she met his eyes, almost as dark as her own she noted.

"Bruce. Just Bruce is fine," he said with a shrug before digging in.

Well, that was a start, she thought as she picked up her fork. They mostly ate in silence, broken only by her recollection of the previous evening's events which was sadly short and lacking in any kind of real information. Bruce listened to her with a neutral face, foregoing any kind of question.

Clara began to wonder if she was losing her touch as an escort. She had been warned by older colleagues that things might get rough in the long run. You get more set in your own ways, they said, more likely to argue instead of agreeing daintily with the client, easily frustrated and exasperated. Certainly the last two applied strongly to her current relationship with doctor Bruce Banner.

Not that he was a client right now, she reminded herself.

Clara pushed the remainder of her egg around in her plate; how did one treat a male companion that was not paying her? She did not tend to entertain guests very often. Aside from socializing at work with clients and collegues she tended toward a more solitary life.

At least he seemed to be enjoying his meal.

His voice startled her, "More coffee?"

She wondered if it was a sign of bad hosting if the guest was offering to fill her mug instead of the other way around, but he was giving her a humouring smile and so she decided it wasn't important.

"Yes, thank you," to save some face she peered at his empty plate and asked: "Did you eat enough? I have more downstairs if you want."

He shook his head, his smile broadening to a toothy grin. "Not at all, it was great and I'm stuffed." He leaned back in his chair after filling his own cup and gazed at her garden once more. The man was really fascinated with the place.

Clara decided to offer up some personal information of her own, something she never did at work, in the hopes that this might turn into a more normal friendly get together.

"My biological mother used to garden with me, a lot. This is kind of a shrine in her memory."

He turned to her with a confused frown, "Biological?"

"Yeah, she died when I was six. My dad remarried very soon after though, to the woman I call mom. You know? It's kind of...awkward to distinguish the two of them."

"No, it makes sense. I understand."

Clara smiled and fell silent, hoping that the man would somehow open up about himself. When nothing happened aside from his eyes lingering on her face for a second longer than usual, she hid her annoyance by taking a long sip of coffee.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a while, enjoying the sun on her face. It was not as warm as yesterday, but still hotter than usual. She beginning to grow tired again, the exhaustion from the party was fresh. Bruce, if he told true, was handling his first hangover quite well everything considered.

"I'm sorry about your mother"

Clara opened her eyes to find him peering at her, head bent down slightly toward the coffee mug in his hands. He had crossed his legs and was sitting sideways on the chair, looking slightly more comfortable than before. She felt somewhat successful at the first sign that he might finally be relaxing and thought of a hundred questions to ask him, but instead when her lips moved she simply stated: "Yeah, me too."

Deciding that this was very likely to be the most she would get out of the good doctor today, Clara began to clear up. Bruce did not volunteer to help at first, but after she was almost done piling up the dishes he stood silently and gathered up the rest. She smiled and led the way back down to the kitchen where she dumped the entire mess in the dishwasher. He handed her the dishes he had carried down before putting away the milk and other food items away.

"Thanks," she said as they finished up.

"Thank you for breakfast, and the shower. I am happy that my first hangover was in such capable hands."

"The door's always open."

An awkward silence befell them and Clara began nipping at her lower lip. Despite his shyness and her own bouts of frustration, she had enjoyed the morning. Bruce had done nothing but confirm her suspicion that he was a very interesting person under his shell...maybe very deep under.

She wanted to invite him over again, but though he was polite about it all she was certain he regretted the entire evening and following morning. She did not want to force him to come over again if he didn't really want to. Then again he certainly wouldn't invite himself, so it was now or never.

"Do you have a phone number I could have? If, that is, that's ok with you."

He stopped picking at his nails for a moment and seemed to ponder the question. "I don't have a cell yet, but you have Tony's number?"

"Yeah, sure, I do. But...You don't...are you living with Mr. Stark?" Clara was confused, Stark Tower, or what was left of it, hosted only Mr. Stark himself and Pepper as far as she knew. Then again, how much did she really know of a client she saw every few months?

"It's nothing permanent. I hope. Actually this might be easier if you give me your number."

That was good enough, Clara told him to wait up and walked over to her wardrobe. In one of her multiple handbags she found a stack of card of which she pulled a single one out on the back of which she scribbled her personal cellular number. She handed it over.

"Here you go."

He pocketed the card carefully inside his jacket, before asking "I suppose you would like to meet up again?"

Clara gaped at him slightly, "Hmm, yes, actually I would. If it's no bother for you."

"No, no! Course not. But, I wouldn't...ermm. I'm not actually sure how to say this..." His expression went from toothy smile to pursing his lips to chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck.

She frowned and wracked her brain, and suddenly her eyes lit up. "Oooooh, no. You, this..." she indicated the two of them, "It's private. Nothing remotely work related."

He was blushing, and she actually was surprised to feel her own face grow hot, this whole situation was soon to merit the label: disaster.

"How will you be getting home? Do you want me to call a cab?"

"Is it possible to walk from here? Cabs in New York tend to just irritate me."

"Yeah I totally get that. It's a good long walk, but doable."

Another wry smile, it was enough to make her wonder if he was ever calm and relaxed. Or maybe she was just more stressful company than she had been made to believe so far. What a shocker that would be. Certainly would shed a completely different light as to why her clients paid for her presence.

She walked him to the door and waited as he put on his shoes and coat, "Well Bruce, I had a good time this morning."

"Guess I wasn't much fun drunk then?" he said with a wry smile and it took her a moment to realize he was joking.

"Well, you were a bit heavy to carry, but nothing I couldn't handle", this got a chuckle out of him.

When he was ready to leave and extended a hand for her to shake, she decided to sneak a Canadian on him. Grabbing his hand firmly she pulled herself into a hug. She heard an omph of surprise, but instead of pushing her away he reached out and patted her back awkwardly in return.

"I do hope you call me back," she said before letting him go.

With a mumbled goodbye he turned the doorknob and stepped out into the narrow corridor where nothing but the elevator door stood. He turned back to her with a frown, "You own the whole floor?"

"Yeah, sure. See you around Doctor Bruce Banner," With that she closed the door and grinned to herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone, it's not quite Saturday yet, but I am leaving on holiday tomorrow so need to post this chapter early. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

It was highly possible that he had overdone it last night. Not one hundred percent certain, but definitely quite a high probability of it. Tony Stark thought about this as he lay sprawled in a dry bathtub reeking of alcohol and sweat. Moving did not seem like a good idea at the moment, at least not until the room stopped spinning. You'd think that hours after he had taken his last sip, his body would have had time to process the alcohol, but he felt just as drunk as when he had found this cozy nest.

His neck hurt.

"JARVIS?"

No answer. This was Pepper's doing he was sure, the two of them had begun plotting against him. He'd have to give Pepper a talking to later.

At some point.

Maybe next week.

Actually it might be easier to just reprogram the damned AI.

"JARVIS!"

His throat was sore and dry, he must have talked a lot last night. Obviously very important and worthy of being spoken out loud talking, he was sure. He looked around the bathroom and frowned, which bathroom was this? Definitely in Stark tower, he recognized the general style and modern aspects, but it wasn't his private bathroom.

As if to answer his question the door opened and Bruce Banner stepped inside. Upon seeing Tony he stopped, opened his mouth, closed it again.

"Well, heya buddy!" Tony said.

He now remembered why he was here, after being rescued from the pool by Pepper, Tony had not been able to find Bruce again. Losing sight of one's own volatile destructive force of nature was not something even he could find entertaining, so he had gone looking for him. How exactly he had ended up in the bath, Tony could only fathom.

"Do you need this facility? Cause I'm not sure I'll be able to move for a while, feel free to use the toilet though, I won't look."

Banner shook his head and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door again behind him.

"Nice to see you too!" he yelled.

Slumping back into the bath he wondered where Banner had been. The man looked clean and Tony was almost certain that he would have noticed had he been in a shower with the doctor. At least this explained a lot, certainly why JARVIS was not answering him. This part of the building had been heavily damaged during the fight and the technicians had not yet had the time to connect the AI systems around the area.

He'd have to hire more people, it was completely unacceptable that he be stuck in a bath in his own home without an AI to help him.

He decided to try a different approach.

"Pepper!"

The door opened abruptly after a moment and a somewhat severe looking Bruce appeared once again.

"You're not Pepper."

"You know Tony, I'm glad you noticed. I don't think Pepper can hear you from here," Bruce was now shirtless, a sight Tony could not say he had needed to see. He wondered where all the man's chest hair went when he changed into the green beast.

After a moment of being glared at by his friend, Tony sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said last night alright? I totally deserved the whole..." he made a vague gesture toward his face which he hoped was not as swollen as it felt, "I never should have said that about your parents."

Bruce was frowning and his eyes were suddenly devoid of any austerity, "Actually, I don't remember any of it. Not sure if it's only because of the whiskey, but..."

Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow, "None of it?"

Bruce shook his head.

"Well then, that changes everything," he pushed himself in a sitting position. "How dare you punch me!"

Bruce looked at him in confusion for a moment before rolling his eyes as he turned back, closing the door once again.

"Hey! Don't you run away from me! You, sir, are a violent, violent man! We're going to have to talk about this!"

Silence.

"Bruce? Where did you go last night anyways? Did you just get back?"

Tony tried to will the door to open itself, or for him to suddenly develop the ability to look through it, though he would settle for telekinetic powers.

Nothing happened.

With a drawn out sigh and much grumbling, he extracted himself from the bathtub with very little grace and zero agility. He stumbled out into Bruce's bedroom and upon finding it empty, made his way to the spacious living room.

The other resident genius was sitting in an armchair reading an issue of Physics Today while sipping what he judged to be tea from the flowery aroma which permeated the air.

"You wouldn't have happened to make coffee too?"

Bruce's definitive "no" came without a single glance in Tony's direction. He was beginning to think that the doctor was mad at him. Despite his quavering legs, Tony managed to wobble over to the couch facing Bruce and let himself fall facedown on the soft material. He revelled in the comfort for a second, rubbing his bruised face carefully against the fabric, before turning his head and peering at his friend. With his mouth still half muffled by the couch he asked:

"So, where have you been?"

No answer. He watched as Bruce turned the page of the magazine slowly, seemingly entranced by its content. Tony tried another approach.

"Turn to page 23, Gregor wrote a hilarious attempt at analyzing the functions of the Tesseract. Poor bastard."

Still nothing. Tony slowly sat up, forcing himself to think clearly despite his headache.

"You're the one who punched me! Remember?"

"For good reasons I hear," this time the doctor did look at him from above his reading glasses.

Tony waved a hand in the air, "Details." They stared at each other for a while, before he finally stated: "I came looking for you."

Bruce sighed and closed the magazine with one hand as he pulled off his glasses with the other. He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment before speaking.

"I was at Clara's."

Tony's eyebrows disappeared into his untamed tousled hair. His gaping mouth closed quickly and transformed into a broad grin. But before he could open his mouth, Bruce shook his head, "Not what you think. At all."

He frowned, opened his mouth again to speak, but Bruce silenced him with a raised finger and glare. The doctor then proceeded to explain the misunderstanding of Pepper's order to Clara, and gave a very brief version of how his morning had gone. Banal, boring, walking...honestly, was there any hope for this man?

"Let me get this straight, you went to a prostitute's home and did not have any kind of sex?"

Bruce smiled at him, bushy eyebrows raised in a canonical innocent look. Were this anyone else, Tony would have called bluff. Honestly. But as unfortunate as it sounded, this story had Bruce Banner written all over it.

He threw his arms up in the air and crashed back against the sofa, "You're hopeless. Hopeless!"

His friend simply shrugged and reached for his cup of tea, "I can make you that coffee if you want."

"Nah, I'm going to head up and crash. And I might not be in the lab until later today", Tony said as he stood up.

"Alright," Bruce stood as well and followed him to the door. "Tony? Please don't hire any more women for me."

He pondered this request for a second before nodding, "Deal."

Tony would just have to find unpaid woman to hook up with the good doctor. He headed down the corridor toward the elevators. The motion of the cramped space propelling him upwards made his stomach protest violently, but he managed to keep it together.

Inside his home he found Pepper sitting on their couch, organizer in hand. She looked up as he came in.

"Oh good, you are alive. I was beginning to worry."

She scooted over as he joined her and he rolled his eyes when she wrinkled her nose. Placing her pad on the coffee table she turned toward him with a raised eyebrow.

"You look awful."

"I slept in Bruce's bathtub."

Pepper opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it and simply rubbed her temples, "Was he alright?"

"Oh yeah, sleeping at Clara's did wonders on him."

"What?"

Tony grinned and proceeded to explain the story he had just heard from Bruce. Not that he had much to say considering the lack of any interesting details from the doctor.

"Poor Clara, certainly more than she was paid for. Do you think we should give her...I don't know, a tip? Or something?"

He shrugged, "Don't look at me, it's not like I've personally taken care of paying anyone. Ever. I don't know what's appropriate."

This time it was her turn to roll her eyes, "You're unbelievable. Never mind, I'll look into it."

"What would I ever do without you?" He said as he leaned in for a kiss, but Pepper backed away with a disgusted face.

"Shower. Teeth brushing. Clean clothes. Now."

Tony slumped and let out an exasperated sigh which caused the woman to pinch her nose before removing herself from the couch. As she picked up her tablet from the coffee table she added, "Also, check your phone. It's been going wild all morning."

With that she disappeared into the corridor, presumably heading for their office. And as if on queue, his phone rang. Tony turned his head and rested his chin on the back of the couch, scouring the room with his eyes in an attempt to find the source of the noise. He spotted the offensive device on the kitchen counter and groaned.

He stood and walked over in the most leisurely pace he could muster, certain that whoever was calling would hang up long before he could reach his phone. Unfortunately when he picked it up and pressed the green button the screen lit up with none other than Nick Fury's face.

"Do you actually call yourself or do you have one of your many minions make the call and they just hand you over quickly when I happen to pick up?"

"Mr. Stark...you look like shit."

"Yes, I've been told thank you. What do you want Agent Fury?"

"We've sent you something which you might be interested in," Tony frowned but moved to his console as Fury spoke.

"My birthday isn't for a while yet Fury, but I'm touched."

"I'm afraid this might not be as joyous as you'd hope."

A second later images as black as night appeared in front of him and for a moment he was confused.

"We'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself for now, Stark. Specifically, I'm thinking about a certain guest, which you may or may not be hosting, who does not need any added stress."

Tony frowned, placed index finger and thumb squeezed together against the closest image and spread his two fingers wide apart. The image zoomed in.

"Well shit."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** And now for my next trick...something quite different.

**Chapter 8**

Empty, devoid of substance or shape or life, space was darker than the darkest of black. In this emptiness, depth and perception needed to be abandoned and the lifeforms which inhabited the universe could no more discern its true size than they could withhold its nature.

If one considered that most species never made it more than a few steps away from the primordial womb which spat them out of the innards of their native planets, it was a true marvel when one took to space for the first time. And yet, these first leaps into the stratosphere and beyond were but the trek of an ant from its nest to the sunlight when compared to the greatness of space.

But some creatures pushed their limits, never satisfied with their accomplishments.

Off to the moon, and on to the next one, and the one after. Further to the closest planet, and once more to the next one, and the one after that. Beyond to the nearby star system, seeking and searching for the one thing which would give their existence meaning: life.

And always forward, until their own galaxy was not enough, hundreds and thousands and millions of years after they had once, long ago, taken their first step.

So it was for the Skrull.

For they had created the most awe inspiring empire the universe had ever known. Their thirst for expansion knew no bound. They considered themselves the ultimate creation reality had ever made, and most who met them would agree.

An empire, or rather the Empire - with unlimited resources and hundreds of planets under their dominion. Ready to serve them were dozens of species, most of which had never even left their own planets before the Skrull had arrived.

At any given time there were thousands of Skrull ships tasked with pushing the borders of the known Empire. One such ship, named Reshkt after the famous Emperor, was on a reconnaissance mission to collect Skrull spies which had been sent over 100 years ago on a planet of interest in another galaxy. The Skrull had learned the hard way that advanced knowledge about new cultures was essential to success.

Reshkt was a colossal ship and it had launched not long after the spies, as its size required years longer than the pods which carried their spies to travel the dead space between the two neighbouring galaxies. The ship was captained by the young Nv'Myl and this was to be her first mission outside of the Skrull's home galaxy of Andromeda.

Young was a relative term for a race who were practically immortal. As age was never truly an issue, the Skrull relied on concrete experience rather than arbitrary planetary years to assess individuals. Nv'Myl had lived centuries longer than many in the fleet, but she had spent most of that time raising over fifty children. An honoured and well respected task, but that experience transferred poorly to space exploration.

Or so one would think. Nv'Myl herself had found quite a few similarities between handling a brood of young Skrulls and managing her crew. Over the years since they had launched the crew had become loyal to her despite her lack of experience. Dead Space travel was a lonesome and trying affair, but it was all finally coming to an end. Andromeda was millions of light years behind them and their goal was finally within reach.

They had been following the same route the spies' pods had taken all those years ago and as they breached the outer limits of the spiral galaxy the captain took it as a good sign that there were still no traces of crashed or destroyed pods in the vicinity.

There were no guarantees that the spies had ever made it to the planet, only statistics and hope.

Nv'Myl barked out orders to keep a close eye on the ship's deflection shield. Space debris between galaxies was almost scarce, but now the shield would take quite the beating until they reached the targeted solar system. Should the shields fail they would be destroyed in mere seconds as billions of dust sized particles pummeled their hull. And the alternative, exiting FTL, was just as good a death sentence as they would never be able to reach a viable planet at regular speed.

After a talk with her first officer about the troops drill schedule, Nv'Myl retired to her private office. There, she pulled out the planetary information from the ship's database and stood overlooking the battle map table in the middle of the room. Floating in mid-air above an empty spatial grid was a rendering of a dead grey moon circling around a blue and green planet. Small it was, so much smaller than her home world.

She placed scaled hands on the side of the table and leaned forward, a black dreadlock falling free from her headdress and settling against her green cheek. Her thin lined irises focused intensely on the globe.

"_Little blue planet_" she thought, and a child's poem which she had long ago sung to her children came to mind:

"_Oh tiny worlds, Oh tiny folks,_

_The Skrull will come knocking,_

_And in your hearts their name provokes,_

_Anticipation and fear and shudder_

_Oh little worlds, Oh little folks,_

_The Skrull will come knocking,_

_And in your minds their name invokes,_

_Amazement and awe and wonder_

_Oh puny worlds, Oh puny folks,_

_Who will you chose to do your talking?_

_What will you do when the Skrull come knocking?_"

**End of Act I**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**Not quite Saturday, but close enough. This had been finished for a while so am happy to finally get it out.

**Act II**

**Chapter 9**

Bruce Banner was a man of routine, strict schedules and healthy lifestyle. He did not covet change or excitement. Quiet life was what he craved and that is what he returned to after the event of the party.

Routine.

As in everyday since he had moved to Stark Tower, he awoke in a gloriously large bed at exactly 7:15am to the sound of a local radio announcer's voice.

"...and sunny today here in New York City. No rain cloud in sight today, no sir! For the drivers out there, you'd best avoid..."

Taking his time, enjoying the commodities he had been without in Calcutta, he first collected his mat to perform a yoga routine. Not a day went by without him spending time meditating, exercising his breathing and working his body into all sorts of contorted positions. As shocking as it was to some, this was very relaxing.

Not a day, that is, aside from that one morning with Clara.

Back to his bedroom where the radio man droned on, "How Tony Stark avoided the pyre this time is no small feat, you gotta admit. The man has genius for press as much as he does for tech. In the most recent survey, 75% of New Yorkers said they were happy with how Stark had helped repair the city after the invasion. 75! Forgive and forget they say, but honestly..."

Bruce closed the door to his bathroom and turned on the shower. He delighted in long warm showers, not too hot though. Something to wash away the sweat and exhaustion; he came out feeling refreshed and ready for the day. A look into the mirror to remind himself that his hair needed cutting before reaching for his razor. A clean shave. Unlike Tony he had never been tempted to try decorative facial hair design. Unfortunately this required shaving every single day, sometimes twice. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone a day without shaving.

If you didn't count the one where he had woken up at Clara's.

He groaned. Into his comfortably small kitchen after throwing on some clothes. First, a quick coffee from one of these capsule machines Tony had equipped him with, a gadget he admitted to be very convenient. Followed by boiling water for a rather large canister of tea he would bring with him to the lab. He had at first taken only a single small mug to work, but Tony had developed a taste for hot beverage while working and so Bruce was now required to bring extra.

Tea was to Bruce as paint had been to Picasso. A rather large cupboard in the kitchen was dedicated to nothing but tea bags, loose leaf teas, and a multitude of tools one needed to create the perfect cuppa. When opened, the cupboard emanated a waft of herbal and fruity smell which forced a smile on his lips no matter how dreary the day. He carefully scanned the colourful cans and boxes, his fingers lingering on this one or that, until finally he pulled out a simple rosebush tea. He dunked three bags in his canister and added the not quite boiled water.

Nothing extravagant for breakfast, there was never any time to cook. He bit joyfully into a green apple and packed an extra bowl of fruit salad he had prepared the day before. This would get him through the day until dinner time. He had never been a man to eat much in the morning, in fact he found the weight of so much food distracting and uncomfortable when one was trying to ready for a good working day.

Though of course, Clara's breakfast had been quite delicious.

Bruce stuffed his daily rations into his small shoulder bag more violently than necessary and headed for the door. As he slipped into his right shoe he looked to the wall where a notice board was nailed. It was empty save for a single white business card turned the wrong way around so that its back was visible. Scribbled on it with a loopy elegant handwriting was a phone number.

He had been staring holes in it for weeks.

After securing his second shoe Bruce reached up yanked the card from the pin. He glared at it for a second, then gripped the card with both hands as if meaning to rip it in half. But he stopped. Sighed. And replaced the card against the board, gruesomely puncturing its center with another pin.

Closing the door of his apartment behind him he wondered why he had even kept the card in the first place.

It's not like he would ever call her.

The lab was located a few stories above his own. There were plans to turn the rest of his floor into various research facilities as well, but their construction was going to take some time. He reached his and Tony's working space at exactly nine o'clock and was not surprised to find it deserted. To say that his colleague detested awaking early and avoided morning work like the plague would be a severe understatement.

Bruce moved over to what had become his desk. A large metallic table kept clean and free of clutter. Neatly ordered and stacked inside labeled drawers were his paperwork, writing material and other small tools he could use for his work. Everything easily found, nothing astray, his previous day's progress noted down dutifully allowing him to pick up almost exactly where he had left of.

Tony's station, a few tables away, may as well have stopped trying to be a table at all. Overflowing with gadgets of all kinds, pieces of things no one could possibly recognize and cups which contained beverages reduced to mildew cultures - it made Bruce nervous just looking at it. Which is why he worked with his back turned to Tony most of the day.

The rest of the large science room was filled with all sorts of machines, experiments and half-finished models of various kinds. Some of these Bruce had helped work on, others were the result of his friend's bizarre imagination and genius. JARVIS was around as well, and a few robotic arms which unnerved Bruce. The fact that Tony spoke to them as if they were dogs or minions made the whole thing even more unsettling.

His re-entry into the modern world, a world, which had matured exponentially since he had left it, was a generally slow one. Add Tony's self created machines and gadgets, and Bruce felt as if he had to learn a new language. Nothing impossible, but it was more than just understanding how the things worked. It was adjusting in his entire working habits. Therefore, just as he had done for most of his life, he kept to paper and minimal amount of machinery.

Bruce was able to enjoy a few hours of quiet before Tony burst into the lab. Like the bringer of life himself, Tony's presence caused machines to power up, music to play and JARVIS to begin droning on about the results of some all night calculation he had run.

It was only with great resilience and months of enduring the same act that Bruce managed to smile at his friend despite the unwelcomed commotion.

"G'morning doctor!"

"Good morning Tony," he watched the dark haired man walk into the lab with a broad grin and spring in his steps. "Slept well?"

Tony's eyes positively sparkled with excitement, "You have no idea."

"Pepper made it back from her trip in good shape I take it?"

"Oh yes."

"Well, I'm happy for you. I took at look at those arc reactor figures you gave me by the way," Bruce turned back to his desk and selected a small pile of papers. Before he could look back he felt Tony step well into his comfort zone, breathing over his shoulder.

He lifted his eyes to glare from his sitting position, but Tony only gave him a side glance and smirk. Bruce could only chuckle at the man's disregard.

"And?"

"And it's not working out. I'm sorry, but I don't think this system will function any better than your current model. Actually it might be worse. I made notes."

"You disappoint me Bruce," Tony said as he took the offered paperwork and gave the first page a quick look before discarding the whole thing on the adjacent table. "And here I was with good news for you!"

His friend moved away again, heading for his own desk.

"Oh yeah? What would that be?"

"I managed to hook you up with Lara for a date, any day any time she says."

Misunderstandings often lead to truths.

"What? No, Tony. I told you: no more paid women. Or did she call you? What did she say? Did she ask why I hadn't called back?"

Tony frowned, "Lara, not Clara. Why would Clara call..." then the man then grew wide eyed, and Bruce turned around to return to his work, cheeks burning. "Bruce you dog! You were planning on seeing Clara again? I knew there was more to this story! What happened, did she give you a special price? Some kind of pity discount? Hmm?"

The hair behind Bruce's neck rose and he clenched his jaw tightly before breathing in deeply, closing his eyes and exhaling, letting the tension seep out. When he lifted his eyelids again, Tony was standing on the other side of his desk with a grin.

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Tony."

Fine, fine. It's none of my business anyways." He walked away and Bruce slumped forward, shaking his head, "But Lara's still available if you need her!"

He turned swiftly and glared at the man until Tony lifted both hands in their air and returned to his work. Despite his annoyance, Bruce felt his lips spread into a smile. However horrid he was at it, Bruce did appreciate Tony's efforts at trying to make him happier.

The rest of his day was spent much like any other; working on his private project, answering his colleague's random questions and lending a helping hand when necessary; lunch and finally tidying up for the day. A last step Tony never took.

As in every evening he declined an offer from Tony to join the couple at dinner and headed downstairs to his lair. Bruce found it extremely convenient that he could go from work to home without a single step outdoors. No need to prepare himself mentally for the chaos of the city, the wild people, the hundreds of accident which could happen - yet he did miss greenery, like Clara's garden.

While taking his shoes off, he glared at the skewered card on his bulletin board. It would be a lie to say that he had not been somewhat excited to think that she had called. But Tony's words came back to him and Bruce turned his head away with a wrinkled nose.

"Pity discount..." he hissed at the empty room as he moved to his usual sitting chair.

There he let himself fall and passed a weary hand through his hair. On the other side of the large window on his left he could see much of the city sprawled across the land. So very few trees, everything machines and metal. His gaze shifted to the room around him, the rich yet barren decor. His shack in India had contained next to nothing, yet had possessed more soul.

Bruce had not expected to remain in Stark Tower. In fact he had not truly been prepared for anything when he had parted ways with the rest of the Avengers. Tony's offer had taken him by surprise. His acceptance even more.

Picking up the newest issue of Physics World, he tried to dive into the latest news in the world of science. But the words blurred and danced on the pages. Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He attempted to clear his troubled mind, find his center again, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not remove a certain series of numbers from his thoughts.

With an audible groan, he discarded his magazine and rubbed his tired face with both hands. After a deep sigh Bruce stood and went through the motions of his evening routine. Like every evening before, he concocted an elaborate and healthy meal in his meticulously clean kitchen. He enjoyed cooking, and it was as much a ritual to him as his yoga and tea brewing.

Dinner for one, as always. He decked his small dinner table with a single plate, fork and knife. He ate alone and in silence, sometimes he read from his magazines or books or other scholarly articles, but tonight he simply stared into nothingness.

Once done, he stood and cleaned up - his plate and fork and knife and two cooking pots looking lonesome in the large dishwasher, but he started it anyway. He went around shutting off the lights in his living room and kitchen, but the rooms remained just as bright - illuminated by the city lights.

In his bedroom he shut the curtain tightly, almost viciously. He quickly washed up before double checking his radio alarm; something he always did, and it was always properly set. And finally he pulled back the feather duvet and slipped between the silky white sheets with the intention of falling asleep.

Alone.

As always.

But sleep did not come. He turned and sighed and shut his eyes so tight, that the muscles around them began to hurt; yet he remained awake. He finally settled on his side and squinted at the digital numbers on his radio clock. They altered excruciatingly slowly, the red lines shifting about to create various digit, almost every single one of which were part of the phone number.

They were mocking him.

When the voice of the morning radio announcer suddenly blasted through the room Bruce was unsure if he had slept or not. What he did know was where he needed to go - immediately.

He kicked the duvet away violently, sprung out of bed, put on the crumpled clothes he had worn yesterday and marched to his front door. Shoving both shoes on, ignoring the card on the notice board, he walked quickly to the elevator. This time heading down.

He met only a handful people in the lobby and no one he recognized. The receptionist looked at him curiously as he stormed out, but did not speak.

Outside the morning sun had not yet appeared from behind the surrounding skyscrapers but its heat could already be felt. The streets were already quite busy, the beginning of the morning rush hour brewing. Bruce stood still for a moment, racking his memories to remember the way.

Finally he headed left and crossed the street toward central park. He stepped swiftly and with purpose. The walk went by quickly and before he knew it he was standing in front of the building. He hesitated but for a moment before taking in a deep breath and breaching the door.

Cool air greeted his face and the scent of a hundred flowers assailed his nose. The smell of funeral homes. Brushing away unwanted memories he stepped forward as the sound of a woman's voice startled him, "Good afternoon sir, how may I help you today?"

Bruce turned toward the older, heavily made up woman with a frantic, almost desperate look in his eyes.

"I need a plant."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** So it's not Saturday yet, but this chapter is ready so I'm going to go ahead and post it. I might try and post every 2-3 days from now on. Enjoy

**Chapter 10**

The soil was dark, almost black, it felt moist and dark between her fingers as she carefully examined the content of the bag she was kneeling beside. Clara brought her hand to her nose and inhaled deeply. The smell of life.

"It's dirt girl, just dump it in already!"

Clara turned her head toward Sam, a friend from the escort house who was sitting at the table sipping coffee. The woman's long black legs were stretched in front of her as she bathed in the sun. Her eyes were hidden by large black sunglasses, but she was apparently staring directly at Clara, who shrugged.

"You should join me", she let the dirt crumble back into the bag and slipped on her gloves.

"Ha! No, thank you. Besides, those little hot pants make your ass look amazing from here. You should wear those outside your home, you know?"

Clara grinned as she waved a hand in the other woman's direction. Diving into the bag with both hands, she began to place the fresh earth inside the empty flower bed. Scattered around her were multiple flower pots with bright colourful blooms awaiting to be transplanted.

This was her meditation. Her escape. No clients, no expectation - only her creation. She was sweating under the summer sun, wearing a tattered white t-shirt which was now smeared with dirt. There was no one to impress here, no act to keep up. Behind her she could hear Sam humming quietly to herself, her friend's singsong voice a pleasant addition to the activity. Time disappeared, Clara was able to garden for hours non stop most days.

When the sound of her phone pulled her out of her trance, Clara blinked in confusion, thinking it was Sam's alarm. Was it so late already? She turned to Sam who was looking at the vibrating cellular with a frown.

"It's your private phone," Sam said as she picked it up. "Unknown number."

Clara wiped her dripping brow with her forearm, smearing more dirt over her already caked face, "Answer it."

She stood and approached the table as Sam pressed a button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?... No, but yeah this is her phone," Clara extended her hand to take back the cell but Sam pulled away with a grin. "May I ask who's speaking?"

Sam then placed a hand over the microphone and cleared her throat, "Since when do you get phone calls from men on your private phone?"

"Gimme the phone Sam."

"Who's Bruce anyways?"

Clara lunged for the cell. Sam laughed as the white woman fell forward sprawled atop of her. For a second they struggled as Sam held the device as far away from her friend was possible. When the chair began wobbling under the weight Sam gave up, and finally handed over the phone.

When she ripped it away and placed it against her ear Clara heard a confused Bruce, "Hello? Clara? Anyone?"

"Hey! Bruce!...right?" She glared at her friend and kicked lightly at the black woman's leg before walking away.

"Yeah, yeah...it's me. Am I calling at a bad time? If you have company I can call back later, or..."

"No, no! That was just Sam. No one important."

Sam stuck out her tongue. Clara tried to slow her breathing.

"Okay...So, hi."

"Hi", Clara felt herself grin, so the doctor was uncomfortable even during telephone calls.

The awkward pause which followed almost made her laugh out loud. Sam had taken off her sunglasses now and was frowning. She mouthed a "who is that", but Clara waved her hand again.

She decided to take the lead once more, "How have you been?"

"Oh, good. Good."

She could almost see his fiddling with some defenceless napkin or tablecloth, she continued "Were you calling just to say hi?"

Silence again. She heard him clear his throat. One, two, a few seconds. As she opened her mouth to say something, Bruce finally cut in.

"My plant is dying."

Of all the things he could have said, this had not even made the list. She had not meant to giggle, but the laughter erupted from her chest unhindered and for a moment she could not stop.

She heard him mumble in her ear, but the words were drowned.

When she was finally able to catch her breath she apologized, "Oh god. Sorry, but...what?"

For a second she was afraid that Bruce had hung up on her. Immediately sober she listened to the silence.

"No, it's ok. It is amusing."

His tone of voice did not sound amused at all. Clara was at a loss. What did he want?

"What kind of plant?"

"I'm not sure"

She coughed to cover a chuckle, "Alright. Did you want to...save it?"

"I kind of feel bad just dumping it. I don't know. Probably shouldn't have called."

"What? Hey, it's fine. Do you...Would you like me to come over and take a look?"

"That's... You don't have to. Really, I'll throw it away."

She groaned quietly. Maybe she was understanding him all wrong. But still, he was just a man after all.

"Honestly, it would be no problem Bruce."

A pause, and then, "Okay. When?"

"Well, usually I would have had a client tonight. But..."

"I'm sorry, this was a bad idea. I don't want to inconvenience you, really. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Seriously, please Bruce. I've already said yes and it's no bother at all. My client cancelled. So, this afternoon? Around 5 o'clock?"

A pause.

"Yeah. That's fine."

"Great! See you then."

"Bye."

Clara hung up the phone and turned to find Sam standing right behind her. She shrieked, rolled her eyes and then sighed. Somehow the conversation had drained her. A mix of giddyness and nervousness gripped her belly. Sam followed her every step as she moved back to the table and sat down, her flowers forgotten. Her friend kneeled beside her, her large red afro tickling Clara's arm.

"Clara, who was that?"

She sighed, "This man...Bruce Banner." She tried chuckling, but it fell flat.

"You're seeing someone? Woah...how does that work? Oh my god, does he even know? Tell me you told him."

She rolled her eyes and Sam backed away slowly and regained her chair. Clara then proceeded to explain how she had met Bruce at Tony's party. The night, Pepper's order, carrying Bruce up to her apartment.

"Why didn't you dump him on the couch? Girl, you're crazy sometimes you know that?"

"That couch is not made for sleeping, come on Sam. I'm not cruel."

Her friend laughed and for a moment Clara felt indignant. But she had to admit that the whole thing had been rather foolish. She continued, explained their breakfast and talks on the terrace. How she had given him her number, but he had never called back.

Until now.

"Well then, I hope you fix that plant of his real good."

Clara clicked her tongue in annoyance, "It's not like that." She paused, "At least, I don't think so...When's the last time you had a real relationship Sam?"

Her friend shrugged one of her flawless bare shoulders, "Years ago. You?"

"I dunno. Think I was 15 or 16? He was adorable. Oh Sam, what on Earth am I supposed to do with a non-paying man?"

"Jeez, stop fretting about it. Whatever happens, happens. Just let him lead and you should be fine."

"Should be fine? That's not very reassuring, and you haven't met him either. He is quiet, and nervous and awkward. I felt successful just getting more than two sentences out of him."

Sam shrugged again. Clara sat back and for a while they remained silent. Her eyes roamed to her abandoned plants and she sighed. She would finish planting them, but the gardening mood had left her.

When the two women returned downstairs, Sam glistening from her sunbathing and Clara drenched and dirty, the dark woman offered her help.

"Need a hand getting ready?"

She shook her head, "That would make it feel much too much like work. But thanks, Sam."

Her friend nodded and readied to leave. When her shoes were on and all her things collected she turned back to Clara and smiled.

"Tons of escorts have boyfriends. I even knew one that was married."

"I know, it should be fine. I don't even know if this means anything. Maybe he's just a really weird guy that has a weird plant problem."

"Or, he's a regular guy with regular problems."

Clara rolled her eyes as she shooed Sam out of the door. She then hurried into her shower, discarding her soiled garments into the laundry bin. Making the best out of the little time she had, she decided on plain jeans and a t-shirt with heels to bring at least some class to the outfit.

Her dark hair was tucked away into a plain ponytail and some quick makeup later she was satisfied with the result. If this had been a client call she probably would have been fired on the spot and she hoped dearly that Bruce really did have a plant problem.

She took the subway to Grand Central and from there walked to Stark Tower. A lot of the devastation which this section of the city had suffered during the attack was still visible, but Clara was shocked by how quickly people had rebuilt. The tower itself showed almost no sign of having been almost destroyed by a horde of alien invaders.

Clara shook her head. As it often had over the past months, she was struck with the reality of it all, aliens! As if Iron Man and the destruction of Harlem by army experiments had not been enough.

For the first time ever she entered the building without having been rented for the evening. This somehow made her more aware of the people around her and less confident about her purpose. Still, she walked directly to the receptionist who smiled up at her with oblivious eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Doctor Bruce Banner?"

A blond eyebrow rose curiously, "Just a moment please."

The woman wheeled away and turned her back to Clara as she picked up the phone and dialed. Some whispering and a moment later the receptionist wheeled back forward with a smile. "Can I get your name please, and a piece of ID?"

She provided both and was handed a visitor's pass, valid for this day only and stamped with the current time.

"You'll need to go through security over to the left, and they'll show you to the elevators. Doctor Banner is on the 85th floor."

It was Clara's turn to be somewhat surprised.

"Huh, alright then. Thanks alot."

"Have a good afternoon."

She smiled back to the receptionist and headed to the security checkpoint. In her previous visits Clara had gone through to the right side of the reception hall, where the elevators only moved to the first three floors. Though somewhat nervous as she approached the crisp looking guards, she went through the metal detectors and bag scan without a hitch. More relaxed than air travel, they did not even mention her nail file and clippers. Then again she supposed those would be meager tools against Iron Man.

The trip to the 89th floor was long and lonely, but at least she was spared elevator music. Clara wondered if Mr. Stark had personally seen to it that the torture device be banned from his elevators.

The doors opened to a somewhat lonesome and barren looking corridor. The walls and floor to her right being covered with large plastic sheets, she opted for the left. Her heels echoed eerily against the marble flooring. No one else crossed her path, all doors were shut and none of them labelled. She was beginning to wonder if she had misunderstood the receptionist when she noticed one door with a floor mat which spelled a word in a language she did not recognize. No name on the door, no buzzer.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted one delicate hand and knocked four times.

Muffled sounds, movement, the doorknob turned, opened, and her breath caught.

He looked out of breath, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. His hair was disheveled and seemed unbelievably longer than the last time she had seen him, and grayer. Dark circles under his eyes and a somewhat diminished stature betrayed sleepless nights and uneasiness. Nevertheless he smiled broadly when he saw her, his dark eyes almost shinning.

"You came."

"I did."

Silence as they stared at each other. And finally:

"Come in, please."

Clara stepped inside, the entryway was cramped and separated from the rest of the apartment. On the far wall was a notice board, empty save for a small white card. Her card.

Bruce backed away as she took off her shoes and then led the way into the living room. It was a large space with an open kitchen to the right and windows overseeing the city to the left. Modern, sophisticated, but bland. No pictures on the wall, no colour, just white and grey. No decoration on the fancy coffee table, no carpet under the dinner table. Clara shivered and fought to subdue her decorative spirit.

Her host had moved to the kitchen and dumped the cloth he had been holding. He was leaning against the counter watching her when she returned her attention to him.

"So where's the patient?"

He chuckled and moved into the living room where he bent down behind the sofa and lifted up a potted plant.

"Oh."

"That doesn't sound good," he chewed his words even more than usual.

She moved closer and took the small brownish plant from him, "No, it doesn't"

"The saleswoman told me it was an easy one to care for."

"It is."

He sighed and Clara shook her head quickly, "It's nothing you did, really. This isn't lack of water or too much sun, this plant has a fungus disease," she pointed to white spider-like webbing on parts of the leaves, "Probably was sick when you bought it. Where was it?"

"A nearby florist."

"Mostly sell cut flowers?" He nodded and she nodded in return, "Best avoid them in the future. I can give you a few numbers of places where they'd sell you great plants. More expensive and a bit out of the way, but fewer chances of this happening."

"So, nothing to be done for this one then?"

"I'm afraid not, no."

He nodded and took the plant back from her and brought it atop the counter in the kitchen.

"I wanted to get some life into this place," he seemed to be speaking to himself.

Clara approached slowly, "I can see why."

She had meant it nicely, but he looked at her with a frown and suddenly she was on the defensive, "Not that it's not a nice place, or anything...I just meant that, it's a bit, hrmm -"

"Bleak."

"That's a good word for it."

And now they looked at each other with curving mouths until the tension released in explosive laughter. Between breaths she check to make sure he was not insulted, but he laughed along with her for a while until he asked with a smile: "Drink?"

"Sure. What've you got?"

"Actually," he said with a frown before moving to the fridge. "Tea...and juice?"

She chuckled.

"Tea would be wonderful."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: **Thanks for all the support this far guys, your reviews make my day :)

**Chapter 11**

Betty Ross had been Bruce's only serious relationship. And though their breakup had torn a painful wound in his heart, he knew that returning to her would cause more problems than it would fix. She was happy, married and a mother of a beautiful baby boy - information courtesy of Tony Stark.

Maybe, one day, he would be able to pick up the phone and call her. But that day was a very, very long time away.

Aside from Betty, his life had been very much devoid of romance. He had never been in any comfortable enough situation to pursue, or even desire, any relationship. The terror he had felt for so long about his condition, his ability to do so much harm, had prevented him from getting close to anyone.

As much as he had wanted to run away from it, suppress and even remove it (a goal he still pursued), Bruce had found a way to make peace with his resident beast. If he one day came upon a cure he would use it. And if not, well...he would live on.

Calcutta had been his first step into a changed life. He had left the wilderness of Canada with a fresh outlook on life, one with a future in it but without any real objective. He had hovered here and there, making his way through villages, towns and countries - not running away from the army or himself, but a true free wandering spirit.

He had ended up in India and found a place in the world where he was needed, wanted, appreciated. There was much more to Calcutta than its slums, but it was there that he felt he belonged. Though not a medical doctor, Bruce was more than any of the residents had hoped to receive. Not many doctors visited the area, it was a leper colony.

This was not the kind of place he would have visited before the gamma incident. And in this way, as irony would have it, he and Tony had a lot in common. Where Bruce's life changing transformation to "super hero" had driven him underground and shunned, Tony's had risen him to the highest echelon society had to offer.

And yet both men had taken the same about-turn in their lives.

Behind they had left the selfish egocentric scientist, and instead brought forth a human being intent on doing good. Though this may be quite hard to see in Tony, Bruce was somewhat more transparent about his good will.

Tony had also found love; Bruce had not even thought of looking. Betty was still too fresh, the leprosy had kept him busy with very few eligible female around, the devastation of New York - thing which kept a man single.

But now he had tea with Clara. And she with him.

They met again for coffee in Bryant Park. Once more for dinner at her place. And the same at his place not long after.

Innocent meetings, chatting and the odd chuckle. Something he had not done for years, and it felt good. That his presence be desired he had experience from the desperate people in Calcutta. But they had only welcomed his skills and generosity, not knowing what he really was. Tony had been the first to not only acknowledge the Hulk, but share Bruce's own sense of humour at his situation.

Then men shared a common interest and many secrets, but they talked about work and little else. Clara however, knew as much about science as the sick children in Calcutta had. She was obsessed with modern society and all the material beauty had to offer, and yet balanced this vanity with a certain sense of irony about herself and the ones around her. Something, he figured, which came from Clara herself being considered one of these material beauties by so many men.

This tamed self-deprecation and her insatiable attraction to the natural world made her company comfortable, even pleasurable.

Nothing more.

And this is exactly what he was telling himself as he waited outside her building on a lovely early Saturday afternoon.

"Sorry!" She said as she stepped up to him somewhat short of breath, her long hair left flowing freely and a light summer dress catching his attention, "Client called as I was leaving, some of them are hard to get off the phone."

Bruce cleared his throat; he disliked thinking about her work. It was none of his business, and he made sure to stay well out of it, but he could not help his uneasiness whenever she made a reference. He tried. Every time he did try very hard to think nothing of it; just a normal job, not much different than yours, like a model or gym trainer or trained assassin...but he failed.

He had expected the uneasiness to diminish over time, but found that the opposite was happening. Whenever he thought about it, or she mentioned it, the tightening in his chest increased and spread, coursing through his vein into his suddenly upright shoulders and up to his clenching jaw.

This was not healthy.

Still he did not comment. Clara was not a stupid person, she noticed his cringing, but she was proud and refused to hide her job out of shame.

And maybe he respected that too.

He had been silent too long, she looked up at him with a frown, "Everything alright?"

"Of course! Shall we?"

She nodded and led the way toward the nearest subway station. There they would take a train heading north and visit one of Clara's favourite place on the island, or so she claimed: The Cloisters.

"I go there a few times a year, specially in the summer of course, but in the winter too. Specially if it just snowed, the place is so serene!"

"I'm looking forward to it."

They exited the subway just north of the cloisters, Clara explained that they could have left off quite a bit more to the south and walked along the park, but this would take more time and could be saved for another day. She was working tonight.

Brushing away his mixed feelings, Bruce attempted to find peace in the scenery around them. The bustling noise of the city receded as they trudged along the beaten path, replaced the songs of birds and the rustling leaves. They walked in silence for the most part, broken sometimes by one of them pointing out a squirrel or bird in the trees.

When the actual rustic buildings came into view, Clara spoke up, "The first time I came here was the week I'd just moved to New York. I thought the city was great, but coming from a house in the countryside to Manhattan kinda had me running to the parks."

"Why did you move to New York?"

His friend shrugged a shoulder, "Needed something different. Let's get inside."

He nodded and followed, biting back more questions. He always expected her to mention something more about her past, reasons why she had chosen her profession, some tragic tale maybe. But Clara offered as much about her life as Bruce did.

With its religious background and museum interior, the cloisters were far from being a place of casual conversations. As he and Clara made their way up into the building, thoughts of their relationship and his feelings evaporated. They moved slowly from room to room, Clara patiently standing at his side while he observed a certain statue, gravure or painting. She must have seen these things over a dozen times already, but she never rushed him.

The beauty of the building and the memories it contained appealed to Bruce. During his travels he had always been drawn to temples and ruins, places which meant something to so many people. And even here in one of the busiest city in the world, people managed to find a certain peace when confronted with architecture and art.

Nothing could give you more hope in humanity than the solemn respect they still had for their past.

When they stepped into a small courtyard with a glass roof Clara motioned for them to sit on a bench. Others walked by, whispering to each other when in groups, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

"Do you like it?"

"Very much, and thanks for showing me around. It's just as beautiful as you described it."

She smiled at him proudly, "I'm glad."

After a moment of silence she spoke up again, "So do you have any plans? I mean, is living at Stark Tower something you'd consider permanent?"

"I haven't quite figured that out yet. It wasn't meant to be, I think. It was a spur of the moment decision, I didn't really expect it to work out."

"But it is?"

"Yeah...yeah quite well to be honest. I don't know, do you have some kind of idea where you want to go?"

"I guess. Not really."

"Is your current situation something you want to continue?"

He glanced at her sideways as he asked, trying to appear more comfortable than he felt. She chuckled dryly before replying.

"Do I want to keep whoring for the rest of my life you mean?" He could not find the right words to reply to that, but she took his silence as a good enough confirmation, "It might shock you, but I actually like what I do."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Bruce should have left it at that, but something clicked in his mind, "How did your mother die?"

The way she snapped her head and glared at him, he physically braced himself to be struck. But from a jaw so tight it made the words sound like hissing, she replied: "It has _nothing_ to do with my job. And I don't want to talk about it."

The silence which had become the trademark of their friendship so far fell upon them once more. Though this time not as comfortable as before.

"Let's keep going," she suggested after some time and he followed.

The rest of the visit was brisk, he was constantly aware of Clara's every move. The way she examined her fingernails instead of the decor, how she stared out of a window while he examined a particularly intricate engraving, and these small movements made him suddenly feel rushed.

When they exited again and started back toward the train station, Clara announced that she would accompany him to Stark Tower. Though Bruce had nothing explicitly against this, he wondered about the point of it. Her stop was before Grand Central and she would needed to rush back home to ready for her work.

They did not speak as they rode the subway back. The lack of communication was heavy with the need for it. Bruce knew he should not have brought up the topic of her work, especially not with such an overtly negative view of it.

She followed him inside the Tower and after a few steps inside they stopped and looked at each other.

"Listen, I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's fine Bruce, really. I just don't talk about some things very openly, I mean even Sam doesn't know these things. But I had a good time. I always have a good time together."

"Yeah."

They had not shared much physical contact since that first breakfast when she had hugged him goodbye. In fact they had both seemed to avoid it completely, sometimes leaping out of the other's way to make sure touching did not happen. It had seemed ridiculous, yet instinctive.

Yet now Clara smiled up at him and stepped closer, lifting her arms to encircle his neck; and he did not hesitate to return the embrace. His arms wrapping tightly around her back, too tight perhaps but she did not complain. And suddenly he knew exactly why he had avoided touching her, because now he did not want to let go.

When her thin arms began to slip down and away, Bruce forced himself to pull back. His heart was beating too quickly, he felt hot despite the air conditioning. Clara's face was flushed as well as she looked up at him. When she spoke her voice was hoarse and she needed to clear her throat before he could understand her.

"I have to go."

He nodded.

"Call me tomorrow?"

He nodded a second time.

Clara smiled as she turned away.

He watched her leave the lobby, his eyes trailing down her back, lingering on her swaying hips for a moment. He noticed other men turning their heads as she passed them and felt a mix of pride and annoyance. Something inside of him wanted to grab her, lock her up in his room and not let any man look at her again - he told himself this was the Hulk thinking.

He was about to continue moving toward the security check when Pepper suddenly accosted Clara. Curious, he watched the exchange, or as much of it as he could see. Clara's back was turned to him, but he could see Pepper's face clearly and it did not take a master spy to read one's own name on her lips. The women were talking about him.

He frowned, his stomach contorting into an uncomfortable knot. He should not have been surprised, should have seen it coming, and yet when Pepper reached into her purse to pull out her wallet and from that gripped a hefty amount of bills, he felt such an intense surge of emotion that for a split second he _wanted_ the Hulk to come out. The beast felt it, his skull exploded in pain, but before any transformation could take place Bruce turned around and fled the lobby.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Another strange one. Enjoy.

**Chapter 12**

Though her feet were pincered inside 5 inch high black heels, Sylvia walked out of the building with ease and confidence. Her black mini skirt clung tightly to her hips and it was a marvel of modern tailoring that the tiny piece of clothing did not ride up to her waist as she moved. She had selected silky skin coloured nylon tights for the evening with a red turtleneck completely opened at the back. Her hair was tied into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck with a few strands purposefully set free on each side of her face. Heavy makeup, multiple rings of various sizes and colours, and rather large hoop earrings finished her ensemble.

Tonight she was meeting a new customer for the first time. Well, potential was perhaps the wrong word. The man would need to pay for the evening of course, but Sylvia was hoping to get him on the regular's list. A few of her old time customers had recently dropped off the radar, either caught by their wives or girlfriends, or maybe they had moved away or even just gotten tired of the whole thing.

Sylvia had long ago stopped worrying as to why some of her customers chose to leave, as it rarely had anything to do with her services. She was good at what she did.

The taxi driver who had been waiting outside for her took only a few minutes to arrive at tonight's location, a hotel she had visited more often than she could remember. It always took place in hotels, luxurious ones with a fancy restaurant and bar at the bottom and suites which cost almost as much as she did.

Sylvia paid the taxi driver, including a generous tip, and walked inside. The waitress on shift recognized her immediately and gave her a broad smile, Sylvia liked the staff in this particular establishment. Too many places tended to have employees which judged her and her work, instead of appreciating the fact that what she and her peers accounted for a great deal of the suites being rented in their hotels.

"This way Miss, your usual table is ready."

She followed the waitress through the dimly lit restaurant until they reached one of the more removed tables beside the window. Sylvia had it from years of experience that most men tended to get nervous during dinners with escorts and it was her job to try and minimize their stress.

"Thank you," she said as she took the seat which would force her client to sit with his back to most of the restaurant, and deposited her pristine white handbag on the floor.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Yes, a white wine please. Thank you."

Nodding, the woman quickly walked away, returning soon after with her glass. Sylvia took a rather large sip of the chilled alcohol and smiled, she really did enjoy this restaurant. When her client was shown to their table a few minutes later, Sylvia stood to shake his hand. He was younger than the men she usually catered for and she found him slightly underdressed for the venue in his jeans and shirt, but she was not paid to judge.

"Vincent Savoy, nice to meet you."

"Sylvia, and same," she returned him warm smile and waited for him to take his seat before returning to hers.

He gave his order to the waitress who promptly returned with drink in hand as well as tonight's dinner menu. It was a short list, vegetarian or beef entrees, but despite the lack of variety Sylvia knew that the food was exquisite. She selected vegetarian, he chose meat, and the waitress then left them to their own devices. This part tended to be awkward for new clients, but she was surprised to see that Vincent seemed quite at ease.

"So, Sylvia, how long have you been living in New York City?"

"Nearing six years now," she said and followed his lead in taking a second drink from her wine.

"Where are you from originally?" he continued.

"Small town in upstate New York, not too far away. Wanted to live in a more...well, more exciting place."

He gave her an unimpressed smirk and Sylvia returned a well practiced smile, "How about you Vincent? Do you come to the big apple very often?"

He shook his head, "This is my first time actually. Nothing I ever really wanted to visit, but business takes you all kinds of places. Hopefully a onetime thing."

He gave her a knowing wink and she signed internally, so much for acquiring a regular customer.

As they waited for their meal to arrive, Vincent fell into an excited monologue on the woes of larger cities like New York City. How its core was rotten, its denizens selfish and uncaring. He brought up the homelessness, the ghettos, and the shady on goings in Central Park at night; she nodded and smiled through it all.

When the appetizers arrived, he began droning on about prostitutes and the way they polluted the streets and Sylvia began to hope that his skills in bed would at least outshine his social ones.

She had just finished the last of her salad when a familiar voice sent a cold chill down her spine.

"Clara?"

She turned, wide-eyed, to find Doctor Bruce Banner standing not too far from their table apparently returning from the gentlemen's room and looking at her with a confused frown. He was wearing a suit, no tie; his hair slicked back and his face clean shaven.

They had not spoken in over a week, since the day at the Cloisters. She had been wondering that very morning if she should call him and ask about their next meeting, but had not wanted to seem pushy.

She realized that she was smiling without meaning to, having forgotten where she was and why. The call back to reality came as an annoyed questioning tone:

"Sylvia?"

Her stomach turned to led. Bruce's eyebrow went up as he looked from Vincent and back to her. She turned to Vincent and excused herself.

"I am terribly sorry, please just give me a couple of minutes. I'll be right back."

Before her client could protest she had wiped her mouth, discarded the napkin and pushed herself up. As she grabbed a thankfully unresisting Bruce, she tried hard to sort out her thoughts into a coherent explanation for the man. She dragged him all the way to the hotel lobby and there she turned to look at him, wanting to explain things to him, and found herself mute.

He disentangled himself rapidly from her arm and took a step back, she cringed. This was going all wrong. As he had done so many times before, Bruce stuffed both hands in his pants pockets and hung his head low as if staring intently at his feet. She was still trying to find the words that would magically make him understand everything, when he spoke first.

"Sylvia? Is that...that's not your real name is it?"

"No! No, of course not. It's a, a sort of person I become, sometimes when meeting clients."

He scoffed and shook his head, "Is Clara your real name?"

She froze and felt the last facades of Sylvia slip away from her. The entire ritual of the evening to _become_ that confident woman, crumbling horribly in the face of the meek doctor. She stared at her perfectly painted blood red nail, a colour never worn otherwise, and felt her throat tighten in a giant ball of emotion. She really did want to tell the truth.

But could not.

Bruce spoke again, "Listen, I have someone waiting for me in there. I should go."

"It's my middle name," she looked up and found him already half turned away from her, he stopped when she spoke but did not look back. "It is. I haven't used my first name since I moved to New York. Bruce please, Clara is who I really am. But when I work...You need some kind of defense in this job. If not, if you just go as _you_ and expose yourself like a nerve; well, then by the end of it there won't be much of you left at all. Sylvia, she's my shield against a lot of the stuff that happens. Do you get that?"

The man sighed, his shoulders slumped and his anger seemed to melt. However the next words out of his mouth spoke of a boiling rage seething deep inside.

"Pepper _paid_ you on my account."

"What?"

"I saw the two of you when we came back that day, she handed you money."

"Oh Bruce -"

"Don't, seriously. I'm not daft."

It was useless to pretend.

"No, you're right. Pepper did give me money, and it was because of you."

There was horror on his face, despite him having known. Bruce Banner was a romantic.

And she was a whore.

She smiled, he frowned.

"Pepper's a very honest woman. I never told Madam Nevian how the evening of Stark's party went. As far as my boss was concerned I attended and was paid for a social presence. But Pepper called Nevian. I guess she just felt bad for sending me off with you, thought it must have been a real inconvenience."

She chuckled dryly, his eyes began to enlighten.

"Prostitutes of all kind tend to be pretty possessive about money. Nevian pounced on Pepper's offer to compensate the _unfortunate_ event. But this money had to be given cash as a type of generous tip, so that Nevian wouldn't have to tax it. I went back with you to the tower to meet Pepper, but I knew you kinda hate this whole part of me and what I do. So I didn't involve you in it. It wasn't supposed to happen in the lobby..."

She sighed, and his mouth was open and round.

"Oh."

"Telling you would have been the better decision. I'm sorry."

She felt something itch against her cheek and reached up to wipe away tears she had not noticed. Her fingers were stained with wet mascara and foundation, she must have looked like a mess. Behind the silent Bruce Clara noticed a woman approaching the window dividing the restaurant from the hotel lobby. Bruce noticed her eyes and turned to the woman, then back to Clara.

"Let's leave now."

This caught her by surprise. But she answered instantly.

"I want to. You have no idea how much I actually really want to."

"But you can't"

"I'd lose my job."

Bruce chuckled, and Clara reprimanded him, "That's a _bad_ thing Bruce, not a good one!" But she laughed too, shortly.

"Will you be out all night?"

"You'd want to meet me? After?"

He shrugged.

"I'll be home at 11."

"Okay."

Clara cocked her head to the side, but Bruce left her and rejoined his date. A taller woman than him, conservatively dressed compared to Sylvia's garish attire. As the couple left she felt the woman's icy blue stare running over her body. Judging.

She barely retained the urge to pluck Bruce away from this newcomer and hiss: _he's mine_.

Barely.

Vincent was not happy when she returned to her table. Their food had arrived and was growing cold, but like a good gentleman he had not wanted to begin his meal until she arrived. She apologized profusely, spontaneously coming up with a bullshit story about how Bruce had been her brother's friend. She tried to make it sound as boring as possible and after a few sentences Vincent veered the topic back to himself.

Clara listened politely and pretended to be completely engrossed in parts of his ramblings. Sylvia was gone, and instead of the made up persona to get her through the evening, Clara began examining her client for aspects which she found attractive.

He was a good looking fellow, clean and stylish despite his lack of fancy clothing. She looked at his hands which were excitedly animated as he spoke, they were large and soft with groomed nails. Not a man of physical labour.

His hair was dark blond and his eyes grey, more wrinkles between his brows than around his eyes indicated a man who did not laugh much. Still his face had all the proper angles which made it handsome, and Clara could find no fault in it.

She was beginning to grow curious about what might be under his shirt; her thoughts clearing from any other distractions to focus on the here and now. And just as she was very much looking forward to settle the bill and head upstairs he began ranting about whores again.

This ripped her out of her fantasies. Clara began to seriously question the sanity of someone who seemed to hate escorts so much, and yet hire one for the evening.

Honestly, it was creeping her out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The clerk, a young black man who took his job very seriously, buzzed Clara's appartement for the third time. Had Bruce not insisted on it, the man would have abandoned after the first try. Pulling out his phone once again, Bruce checked to make sure the young woman had not send him any update, but the display was black. She had told him 11pm.

It was now 11:35pm and Bruce was beginning to worry. It was entirely possible that Clara was being delayed, doing things he really did not want to think about, but considering the woman's punctuality so far this was quite unusual. He was about to try and call her when a cab pulled into the entryway of the building, stopping in front of the door.

The clerk moved away from the silent intercom and walked toward the vehicle. Bruce watched the young man bend slightly to peer inside the window before his hand reached for the handle. He opened the door.

And out fell a woman.

And he saw Clara, her dark hair spread about as she connected with the pavement, one leg caught in the car still. He blinked - and the vision faded.

This was a stranger.

The clerk was frozen, the taxi driver was yelling, and Bruce hissed in pain when his knees scraped against the asphalt as he flew to the women's side. He scooped up her head and torso and pulled her away from the car, on her dark face he could see blood, on her dress there was more, she was missing a shoe and her pantyhose were ripped up so badly there was more skin than nylon showing.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged and heartbeat faint. The taxi driver was beside him now, he could smell the man's sweat mixed with nicotine breath hovering over his shoulder.

"Shit She was fine when she got in, man. I swear," Bruce could hear the driver pacing behind him. "Shit!"

Bruce was focusing on slowing down his own breathing and clearing his mind. As tempting as it would be to trample the taxi driver in a fit of rage, the act would not help the woman in any way. Instead he turned to the clerk, "Do you know her?"

The young man shook his head violently.

"Call an ambulance."

Violent nodding, but it took a moment for him to actually move back toward the building.

When he heard another vehicle pulling up behind the still stationary taxi, Bruce was surprised. Could the ambulance be here already? He had just found the sources of most of the blood on the woman's blouse and was pulling at his jacket in order to get some compress on the wounds. Stab wounds it seemed.

A high pitched shrill filled the air, "SAM!"

Clara was suddenly on her knees in front of him. Her hands hovered shakily over the woman's, Sam's, body. Sam, he racked his brains, was no one important. His heart sank for his friend. She raised her eyes and they looked at each other, tears began rolling down her face, and all he could do was try and look as compassionate as he could.

"Sam, Sam? Honey can you hear me? Please, Sam open your eyes love," he watched as Clara bent down, caressing the woman's face gently while whispering urgently in her ear.

When nothing happened she hung her head and wept. Bruce kept two fingers on the woman's pulse, but bit his tongue on the prognosis. He cursed at the ambulance's slow pace just as the sirens began to howl in the darkness.

Multiple sirens.

When the paramedics came to relieve him, Bruce's main concern became ripping Clara away from her friend.

"I'm going with her!" the woman shrieked, but one look at the paramedic's shaking head made it clear to Bruce that Clara was not going anywhere near that ambulance.

"We'll take the taxi, come on."

"No!"

She tried to rip herself from his grip on her wrists but he hardly had to try. Clara looked down at her hands in surprise, she must not have anticipated a lab worker to have so much strength. She stopped struggling and fresh tears streamed out.

With the ambulance had come two patrol cars, one officer had joined Sam in the ambulance, and the others were currently interviewing the clerk and taxi driver. When Bruce made to move toward the second taxi in which Clara had arrived, one of the officers intercepted them quickly.

"Hey! I'm sorry but I can't let you go yet," it was a middle-aged white man with a tired looking face, but sharp eyes.

Clara glared at the man viciously, "I am going to the hospital."

"You will, but not before I get your details," he turned to Bruce, "You found the young woman?"

Before he could answer Clara hissed, "Her name is Sam!"

The officer took in Clara, her almost non-existent skirt, impossibly high heels, piled on makeup and flashy jewelry - and was very certain that he had seen this type of women before. And he was right of course.

"And what's your name?"

The woman looked at him sideways as she answered, "Primrose Clara Larson."

The officer did not notice Bruce's raised eyebrow, nor Clara's slight shrug as their eyes met.

"You're a friend of the victim's?"

"I've known her five years now. Samantha Bennett. That's her name."

The man scribbled in his notepad, "And your name?"

"Robert Bruce Banner."

This time the officer did take in Clara's surprise and Bruce's shrug, "And you two are both good friends too, huh?"

"Is this really important?"

The officer ignored Clara, "Can you tell me how you found the woman please, sir?"

Bruce recounted what had happened, in the middle of his story he moved his hand slowly until he felt Clara's own. She was restlessly moving from one foot to the next beside him and he needed her to calm down. Her hand jerked away at first, but suddenly returned and their fingers intertwined tightly.

The officer's eye dipped down for a fraction of a second before returning to his notepad.

"And what were you doing here in the first place Mr. Banner?"

"I was here to see Clara."

"You live here?"

It took a second for Clara to react to the question, "What? Yeah, top floor."

"Does Samantha live here as well?"

"No. Just me."

"Do you have any idea where she was this evening?"

Clara tried to reach into her handbag with one hand, but after a moment was forced to take her hand away from his. She pulled out one of her business cards and gave it to the police officer who looked at it with a sigh.

A second officer, a young woman of asian descent, approached their group then. "Taxi driver said he picked her up from a motel on the other side of the city. Claims she seemed fine when she got in, just tired and maybe drunk."

Her colleague handed over Clara's card and she made a quiet oh of understanding, the man said: "Call and ask about a Samantha Bennett. Get the address where she was, and the client's name. And make sure dispatch knows about the situation and that address soon as you get it."

The woman nodded and walked away to the patrol car.

"I need to go see Sam..."

Clara now simply looked exhausted. Her tears had dried in stained lines on her cheeks. Her purse dangled limply from her fingers in one hand, and with the other she reached out for Bruce again. The second taxi had driven away a while ago, they would need to call for a new one. He noticed for the first time that a few of the residents of the building and passersby had stopped to look at the commotion. Journalists were here already as well, one of them was talking to the clerk.

They were the center of attention, his white shirt smeared in Sam's blood, his jacket gone with the woman in the ambulance. He suddenly very much wanted to get away.

The officer was kinder this time, "I know, let me grab your information Mr. Banner and you can both join my colleague over there. He'll be driving to the hospital shortly."

He jolted down Bruce's number and address, seemed shocked when hearing Stark Tower, but after Bruce repeated himself the officer shook his head and simply wrote it down. It finally looked like they were set to leave then the man spoke up, "Just one more thing Miss Larson. Were you expecting Sam for the evening?"

Bruce did not miss the telling glance from the police officer, two beautiful escorts in one place, it must seem obvious what this meeting should have entailed.

"No, we hadn't planned on meeting. I guess..." Clara choked, "I guess she was just doing the usual after a bad evening. She knows my door's open to her 24/7."

A tall and slender officer came by, introduced himself and asked if they wanted to ride with him to the hospital. Clara barely contained herself and stepped forward immediately.

And stopped when her hand met resistance.

She looked down at their holding hands, then up to him.

"Should I come?"

"Please."

They rode in silence on the back seat of the patrol car, their hands still joined. At the hospital they followed the officer, he took care of asking at the desk for the victim's location and dragged them both behind him as he marched.

After multiple white corridors they arrived in a waiting room where another officer was sitting down, the two partners greeted solemnly and whispered to each other. It was now over two hours since Sam had fallen out of the car.

The officers turned to Clara after some time, her name had been Sam's only emergency contact. The officers delivered the information the only way they could, bluntly. They were no doctors who could explain how everything had been done to save Sam, but that the blood loss had simply been too much and the injuries done to her organs too extensive.

She had died in the ambulance.

He felt her small hand squeeze tighter and tighter as they began offering condolences. After which they began to swear they would do everything they could to find the murderer. The word produced a sob from Clara, the officers became uncomfortable. They hated this part of the job, Bruce could understand why. At least they would be able to go out and do something productive about the situation, he felt completely useless.

The two men left them with the assurance that Clara would be contacted again, and Bruce too for some more questioning. They waited to see if there was any questions and when Clara said nothing, he took it upon himself to ask about the body. But was informed that it would be taking for examination and they would not be able to see Sam until the post-mortem was done.

There was nothing to do.

Go home they said.

He noticed as he guided Clara back toward the entrance of the hospital that the woman was in some degree of shock. It was not just her silence, but the way her face was devoid of any kind of emotion. She seemed not to notice where she was walking, her heels clicking noisily in irregular patterns on the floor.

He flagged down a taxi and helped Clara slide in, himself circling around to sit on the other side. He turned expectantly to Clara, but the woman was silently staring at her hands.

"Where to?"

Bruce cleared his throat, placed a hand on Clara's shoulder but she did not turn to him, "Do you want to go home"

No answer.

He hesitated, trying to remember Clara's exact address, then opened his mouth and said: "Stark Tower."

He would take her home.

The taxi took off and he reached over to take Clara's hand into his again. She did not protest, but did not react beyond giving his hand a quick squeeze. When they arrived he paid the driver, helped Clara out and guided her to his place. He tried asking her a few time if she wanted to go home instead, but she did not answer.

The tower was deserted this late at night and he used his key to get them through a side entrance for the inhabitants - aka any of the Avengers. He rarely encountered anyone, and saw Tony only at work nowadays. The man had been distant lately, often not showing up in the lab at all. Or when he did, it was to ask Bruce a hundred questions which made no sense before leaving again.

Inside his apartment, Clara kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag and then stood still. It was nearing two in the morning.

"You take the bed, I'll crash on the couch."

She looked down at her clothes, "I can't sleep in this."

"You can borrow whatever you need."

He guided her to his bedroom but did not enter with her, instead standing in the doorway as if it was an invisible wall. She looked around.

"T-shirts and such are in the second drawer."

She nodded.

"Alright then," he said, "I'll be just here if you need anything."

And with that he grabbed the doorknob and closed the door slowly. Clara did not protest. When the door was closed he did not move away immediately, his hand still gripping the knob. He doubted she would object if he decided to join her. Bruce counted in his head, waiting to see if she would ask him back in, debating opening the door again.

But finally he stepped back.

He needed tea.

As he was minutiously preparing a single cup of herbal tea, Bruce heard a strange sound.

It repeated itself.

He moved, attempting to find the source, as it repeated again.

A ring tone.

He hesitated before plunging a hand into Clara's bag, producing a cell phone whose display screen simply said: Important.

"Hello?"

The woman on the other side shrieked in his ear, "Oh no, no, no! Is she ok, who is this? Where is Prim!

"My name is Bruce Banner, who's this?"

He heard soft sobbing from the receiver, "I'm Primrose Larson's mother. Please tell me she's alright."

Bruce sighed, "Oh..."

The woman on the other side bursted into tears and he scolded himself mentally for his lack of tact. Staring longingly at his half finished cup of tea, Bruce instead walked to the couch and sat down.

And once again he began recounting the night's events, this time to a hysterical parent.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tony Stark was not very good at keeping secrets.

He had been able to hide his Iron Man identity for a whole 24 hours before succumbing in front of the press and announcing it to the world. This had made quite a few people unhappy. In hindsight it might not have been the wisest decision of his career, though he had managed quite well nevertheless.

And this is the code he lived by: if the pros outweighed the cons, why even look at the cons?

Now another secret had been dropped on his lap, one he did not really understand. SHIELD was adamant that he should not leak the news, Fury promised it would only do more harm than good. Not that Tony trusted the man, but he strangely found himself agreeing with him.

Aliens were going to invade.

Again.

This sentence out of context might very well be a good reason to alert the entire goddamned planet. But in actuality no one knew if this was true. Why cause mass panic for a possibility?

Still, Tony was becoming restless. His latest intel told him that the spaceship was still on course for Earth and closing in fast. SHIELD had been preparing for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer...Tony could not be sure.

They had wanted him to help them develop new weapons, improve the current ones, but he had refused.

He had made a vow to stop making weapons, and he would not begin again. But this decision was not sitting well with him. He was deathly afraid that he had made the wrong move. And maybe this was the biggest reason why he had managed to keep his secret - he did not want to feel ashamed of his choice.

That, and a secret experiment he had been working on which was possible only because no one suspected anything out of the ordinary.

Well, a few experiments.

It would also allow him to send certain important people away without being asked too many questions. In fact one single person, Pepper.

Unbeknownst to his lover, Tony was organizing a particularly important and long trip to a grand opening of a Stark Industry clean energy experiment plant in Alaska. And she would attend.

Happy would go with her, he trusted Happy.

Pepper would most likely protest, loudly. Which was why he was planning on telling her of this amazing news a few hours before her plane would leave.

But this was still a couple of days from now, and there were things to do before then.

Most of these things involved, albeit not truly directly, a certain doctor living in his tower. He had not been able to spend much time with Bruce lately, both because he was extremely busy working on his projects and also because every time he saw him Tony wanted to tell him everything.

News he would be able to do nothing about. The only weapon Bruce could offer them was himself, and even this was a simple fact which needed no preparation. As much as Tony would have loved to share the burden, he also knew that what his friend needed most was a period of non-world-threatening time.

Apparently Bruce had even brought at least one woman home, though he had been too busy to inquire further. He had not even been able to ask about the date with Lara.

Tony sighed. Hopefully everything would just pass by and they were worrying for nothing...

Yet what he was about to do would not pass by, it would remain and forever change things. This was not a new project, it was not a new idea, and it certainly would have happened aliens or not.

This was just an extra damned good reason to go through with it!

He just hoped Bruce Banner would play along.

And this is what he was counting on when he entered the laboratory one afternoon. He was out of time.

Fury had contacted him again, a week he said.

One damn week.

"Tony! Haven't seen you in a while. Everything alright?"

Bruce looked exhausted, but still he gave him a smile. So much for trying to keep his friend in a state of peace of mind.

"I'm alright, you look beat though."

His friend sighed, "Yeah...I had a rather unpleasant week."

"Burying your sorrows in work huh?"

They both looked at Bruce's unusually chaotic workplace and his friend nodded, "Doesn't really work."

Tony walked to the nearest chair and sat down, his thoughts attempting to rectify themselves as he was about to lie to his greatest friend.

Bruce frowned at his silence, "What's wrong Tony?"

He look into the dark eyes of the patient doctor, and almost spilled it all. The aliens, Pepper being sent away as a meager means of protection, his experiment with his suit and the most important experiment.

But instead he grinned almost maniacally and exclaimed: "I've found a cure."

"What?"

"For you I mean. A cure for you. The Hulk and all."

Stunned silence.

"I've been working on it for a few weeks, well longer than that if you count research and all. I didn't know what'd come out of it, but it looks good, Bruce. Really good."

Disbelief, shock, and more similar emotions passed on Bruce's face as his friend absorbed the information. A frown so tight it must hurt, shaking his head, chuckles, and finally, "I don't understand."

Tony reached out to squeeze his shoulder, "I manage to get everything back, the research papers of Mr. Blue, even your original work - well partly. He was really close to actually doing something useful, but he wasn't me, so he failed obviously."

Bruce gave him an unamused glance.

"I'm serious! Bruce I've been working on this for months now, it's good, I'm sure of it."

"But you didn't test it."

"On what? If you know anyone else who needs to cure a rampaging omega radiation created monster, let me know and I'll try."

"So now he's a monster?"

"Your words."

Bruce pulled his shoulder away and Tony cringed. He truly did not enjoy doing this.

"I thought you wanted to get rid of it."

"I did. I do."

"Follow me then, I'll show you."

He stood and walked back toward the door. Bruce followed more slowly, his face still registering shock. They left the research floor which they usually used and descended. Having been engrossed in staring at his hands Bruce did not see which button Tony had pressed at first, but after a few minutes the doctor looked up.

"Where are we going?"

"The basement."

"What? Why?"

Tony tried to sound casual, "If I'm going to mess with the Hulk, I decided it was best to do it close to the ground. I'm kinda sick of falling down from things."

Tony smiled. Bruce was staring at him wide-eyed.

"Right."

Silence from then on until the elevator stopped and opened its doors, -4th floor. Once a storage space for various parts, Tony had renovated a large part of the basement into a special laboratory. More like a bunker really.

It had one purpose only: cure the Hulk.

Or contain the failed experiment.

Tony doubted the second was truly possible, but hoped it might slow it down at least. As they passed through the doorway of the lab proper, he noticed Bruce's quizzical eyebrow at the thickness of the surrounding walls.

"For protection."

"Not mine I'm guessing."

"You can't die."

"You don't know that."

"Trust me, I'm pretty sure I know enough by now. You're like, immortal. How cool is that?"

They now stood in the middle of the white walled, perfectly square reinforced laboratory room. A lonesome table was pushed against the left wall, screens hanging nearby and an eerily looking chair with straps stood in the middle. Bruce approached it.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate these?"

"I did notice the way you avoid leaned back chairs."

Bruce scoffed and stuffed both hands firmly into his pockets.

"I don't know about this Tony."

"I do."

Bruce shook his head, "Seriously, this isn't fun and games. You could get killed, along with multiple other people. You know what I'm capable of."

"I thought it was the other guy."

"A friend of mine told me I should embrace who I was."

"Friends can be wrong."

"What's happened to you? Really? Playing doctor Stark now? I'm not going to sit in this thing and let you jab me at the risk of yours and everyone else's life in the vicinity. Forget it!"

Bruce marched back toward the exit, but as he passed him by Tony whispered: "You saved my life."

Tony hated himself more than ever, right then and there.

He hated the way Bruce stopped, turned and looked at him with his completely open look. He hated the way he knew how this would go down. He hated his manipulation.

"You saved my life, and now I want to pay you back. I finally can pay you back. At least let me try."

Tony wished people were not so easy.

Bruce exhaled, pulled out both hands and threw them in the air, "You don't have to do this."

"I do. And I've put too much work in it now anyways, would be a waste."

"You really think you can do this?"

Tony smiled, "Let me show you the research."

He went over to the table and fired up the screens. Ordering JARVIS to display his most recent calculation and work for Bruce to examine. The doctor approached after a moment and stared at the various displays, before reaching for his glasses and stepping close, his interest peaked.

"Tony, this...this actually makes sense."

Tony took a few steps back and watched his friend dive into work mode. How much he actually knew of his own condition, Tony did not know. Obviously enough to know that what was displayed on the screen was relevant, but how quickly would he realize the mistakes?

It was now or never.

As he pulled out a syringe from the inside of his jacket he checked to make sure the entrance door was still opened. He breathed in deeply, raised his the syringe and with his other hand grabbed his friend's shoulder from behind.

And brought his hand down hard against his neck.

Bruce never saw it coming.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Reshkt completed its exit out of FTL at the limit of the solar system; its large black hulk sliding into normal space and time with but a ripple. It was a feat of modern engineering that the ship's computer was able to calculate their trajectory without crashing them into any nearby objects.

They had been slowly decelerating for quite a long time now, a period which allowed both bodies and machines to adapt to the changes. Nv'Myl was on the bridge as they finally arrived in the officially delimited foreign territory.

This part of space, the entire solar system, belonged to the species on the blue planet as per Skrull laws. It was a tense moment as they immediately braced for defense or intel structures.

But nothing happened.

The captain yelled for reports and the crew fell into a well known routine. Instruments which could not have worked in FTL were now deployed and all eyes turned toward the planet and its surroundings.

This was the exciting part.

Every culture was new, every planet different, always an unexpected element.

The initial reports were good; it was highly unlikely that the species had noticed their approach while in FTL. The machines discovered around some of the exterior planets were but rudimentary satellites meant to gather geological data, their lenses turned toward the objects themselves and not outer space.

Around the blue globe things were a bit different, but from what they could tell the level of technology was not very advanced.

Though there were weapons.

They began calculating the day/night cycle of the planet and some time later a giant display screen on the bridge flickered to life.

A countdown.

They would arrive in four days.

Reports now flooded her desk in a constant stream. Knowledge which would take her ages to absorb. She filtered them, looking through this or that, trying to analyze what seemed important.

This was why the scouts were important.

Having lived on the planet for years will have given them an in depth understanding of the people and their help was indispensable.

Unfortunately they had yet to pick up on any of the scout signals. Though possibly because of interference from the high number of satellites surrounding the planet, the lack of even the slightest hint of presence was worrying.

It became even more concerning when her linguists told her that the planet had hundreds of different languages and dialects. A few of which seemed to be more prominent than others, and possibly three which were spoken by the majority of the species.

Luckily it seemed the species themselves had found this to be problematic and her crew reported local programs which had already been built for translation.

Just as part of her crew busied themselves on the planetary reports and cultural analysis, the rest began preparing the Reshkt itself.

Like all modern ships of its kind, the Reshkt was built of over a dozen smaller ships merged into one for easier travel. There was a large outer shell which, when emptied, was almost completely hollow in the middle and looked like a flying cylinder with large triangular shapes cut out along the sides.

The shell would remain further from the action, only the smaller ships would advance on the planet. They were more agile than the mother ship, and able to enter the planetary atmosphere.

However they were not capable of FTL.

Nv'Myl met with each of the commanders personally, made sure they were ready and prepared. Gave encouragement or discipline as necessary. The separation of the ships was preceded by a lengthy speech to a large portion of the crew assembled in one of the drone carrier bay.

The crew members said farewell to each other, after a lifetime of traveling together, they would now go their separate ways - not knowing if they would see each other again. The chances of any of them dying was low, but it did happen often enough.

The separation went slowly, one ship at a time. For what felt like an endless amount of time the Reshkt was drowned in the sound of grinding gears, screeching metal and various pressure valves.

When finished Nv'Myl sat on the bridge of the lead command ship, the shell having been left to her second in command. It was tradition for the captain to lead the approach. She had been preparing for this moment for so long, and yet the uncertainty of the entire endeavor made her nervous.

For a short moment in her life, Nv'Myl would represent, and embody, the entire Skrull Empire.

**End of Act II**


	16. Chapter 16

**Act III**

**Chapter 16**

"Mom?"

The sound of dishes clanking together, footsteps, and then a gentle voice nearby, "Yes, love?"

"How long have I been in bed?"

"Three more days since you last asked."

"Huh."

"Do you want me to get you anything?"

"Did the police call?"

"Yes sweetie, they did."

"What'd they say?"

"They don't need you to come in."

"But they caught him, right? You said they'd caught him."

"They did. But you shouldn't worry about it."

"Does New York have the death penalty?"

"Primrose..."

"Stop calling me that."

A sigh.

"Did Bruce call?"

Silence. Clara pushed herself up to stare at her mother. The older woman, blond hair, blue eyes, much taller, looked nothing like Clara. Her delicate head shook slowly, "He didn't."

Clara felt a ball in her throat, but swallowed it down, "Can I have my phone please?"

Her mother nodded and left, returning a moment later with both of Clara's mobiles. The younger woman took them both, but discarded her work phone to the side. On her private she checked to make sure that Bruce had not sent any texts, or that the network was not offline, or that any other setting were messed...but nothing.

"I don't understand."

"Maybe he's just busy? I'm sure there's a good reason."

Clara huffed. Immediately she dialed Bruce's number. It went directly to voicemail, a generic female computerized voice announcing that this number was not currently available and to please leave a message.

She did not.

"It makes no sense."

Her mother abstained from any comment, but Clara could guess what she was thinking. Everything always came down to her job in her mother's eyes.

"I'm going to go see him."

She threw the blankets away and stepped out of bed.

"I'll drive you."

Clara pondered this for a moment, then nodded.

She then stumbled into her bathroom, her legs feeling weak, her body tired. She could not remember the last time she had eaten or drank. Her mouth tasted foul. The woman looking back at her in the mirror looked like a homeless drug addict who was going through a terribly rough patch.

Still she took no extra care for her looks. Her shower was short, no shaving, just scrubbing until her skin was raw. Afterwards she tied her still soaked hair in a tight bun, grabbed clothes which her mom had laid out on her bed, and forwent makeup of any sort.

She wore sneakers.

On the table near the door was a newspaper, it was opened to an article with the headline "Prostitute murdered after stealing from her client". Her mother's hand reached in and folded the paper away.

"Sam always did have an unhealthy relationship to money."

The older woman clicked her tongue, "It's no reason to kill someone, and you know it."

They moved to the elevator and headed downstairs to her mother's car.

"The landlord called by the way, he'd like us to get Sam's things out this week."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday, I'll help out. Your dad can come down for a couple of days too."

Clara nodded. The rest of the short trip was silent, her mother turned off the radio and focused on navigating the New York streets. A far cry from the small town traffic the woman was used to.

When she parked near the tower she turned to her daughter, "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, thanks mom. You can leave, I'll call when I'm done alright?"

"Sure Prim."

Clara winced, but bit her tongue.

She walked to the tower swiftly, keeping her head down. The receptionist did not recognize her at first, only when she asked about Bruce Banner did her eyes widen.

"Oh, Clara...I'm sorry, but Dr. Banner isn't in at the moment."

"When will he be back?"

"Uhm," the receptionist checked her computer, "There isn't any date here. I'm sorry. Just business travel."

"What?"

"I was told he left just about a week ago."

"That can't be right!"

"I'm sorry."

Clara blinked a few times, her voice caught when she tried speaking again and she had to cough to hide her choke. Finally she managed to croak, "Can I just, go up? Maybe it's a mistake."

The receptionist shook her head, her face scrounge up the way people did when they felt so sorry for you but could not really let you know.

"Okay, right..."

But it was not alright. Not at all.

Clara turned to leave, but her legs took her in direction of the security checkpoint. She tried smiling at them, but it felt more like a grimace. When she attempted to get through without showing a visitor's pass one guard stood and stopped her.

She argued, some yelling ensued, she may have pushed one of them.

The commotion was being noticed by others in the lobby, and the second guard was reaching for his radio when a commanding voice stopped all of them short.

"Clara?"

She turned and stared in shock at what had once been Tony Stark.

If she looked like a drug abusing whore, he was the pimp who had lost everything and was now suffering from severe anxiety attacks. His goatee was gone, replaced by a messy and disproportionate full beard. Under his eyes were the darkest circles anyone had ever sported. His hair was a mess, his clothes looked like they had been worn for weeks, and he smelled strongly of alcohol and cigarettes.

"Oh my god."

He scoffed, "You're telling me."

The guards backed down slowly, Clara moved away; closer to Tony. People looked in their direction, but the action was over. They walked on.

The two looked at each other for a long time before Tony spoke first.

"So it's true then. You and Banner."

"We're friends."

He chuckled dryly, "Right."

"Where is he?"

Tony shook his head, "You should go back now."

"Excuse me?"

"Leave. Seriously, some things you don't want to know. Go back to your bauble."

"My bauble! That's some comment coming from Tony Stark. You've got some nerves..." she took a deep breath, "What's happened to Bruce?"

He squinted at her, his eyes almost disappearing behind the puffy bags under them.

She glared back, "I'm not leaving before I see him!"

"He's not here, he's traveling."

"Bullshit."

He glared at her, she glared back.

Finally he sighed, turned around, and motioned for her to follow.

The guards did not stop her this time, but simply frowned as she stepped behind Tony Stark. They entered one of the elevators, she raised an eyebrow when he pressed the -4 button. Her stomach turn into a knot.

"You're not going to like this."

Clara was beginning to believe him. When the doors opened she almost refused to leave. But she needed to know.

The basement was dark save for the lights coming from a strange facade to the far right. It was like a building inside a building. A strange house with bright bulbs on each side of a huge door with a tiny window in it. On the side was a console on which Tony entered a series of digits before pressing his whole palm against the display.

The door made a hiss as it cracked open. He pulled hard on it, stepping backward as he did so. Clara moved forward, curious. The walls were white, the brightness from the ceiling almost blinding. A laboratory.

There was something in the middle of the room, she moved further inside to have a better look.

And screamed.

She turned and collided violently against Tony's chest, something he was wearing under his jacket struck her head hard. Like metal. He gripped her shoulders tightly and she screamed louder.

He was saying something, but she was not hearing it. Finally he shook her.

Her head snapped backward from the abrupt movement and she froze. Suddenly hyper aware of the danger she might possibly be in. She took in his vice like grip, his position, the direction of the elevator, how far she would have to run. She needed to get away, he was still talking.

"It's him!"

This made no sense.

"That IS Bruce!"

She frowned, that made even less sense.

"For crying out loud woman, don't you read the news? You're from New York, did you miss the whole devastation of Harlem? Or the alien invasion? Giant green man saves the day?"

She scoffed.

He flipped her around before she could stop him and once again she was looking at one of the most terrifying creatures she had ever seen.

It lay on a mattress which had been put directly on the floor, unmoving. Wires and cables attached to various machines on one end seemed to be monitoring its vital signs. Its chest moved up and down rhythmically, it seemed to be sleeping.

Its skin was a sickly green colour, the lower part of its body was hidden by a thin blanket which was too small to cover its huge feet. Its arms were rippled with more muscles than she had ever seen on any man.

She felt hands pushing against her back, forcing her to step forward. Eyes wide and body tense, she approached.

She could see its head now, just as green and unnaturally large. Huge bushy eyebrows, strangely small nose, square jaw.

That was when she noticed his hair.

Dark, almost black, unkempt, and curly. Soft locks framing his face, one of which was lying across his forehead and against one eye.

She knew those curls.

Clara turned to Tony, her vision was blurry now. She blinked the tears away viciously.

"No."

But he nodded, "Meet Doctor Bruce Banner's alter ego. The Hulk."

She shook her head, "I can't...I have to go."

Clara turned around to leave, this time Tony did not stop her. But after she had taken a few steps he called out, "Yeah, I thought so. Most people just leave him."

Rage filled her chest as she flipped around.

"That is NOT Bruce. It's a...a monster. Look at it!"

Tony did look at the body lying on the bed, he even approached, bent down and placed a hand on the beast's arm gently. Clara watched Tony Stark hang his head. If she did not know better, she would say he was fighting back tears.

"He saved my life."

"Bruce?"

"The Hulk! Bruce! It's the same, they're both just, one being. I _owed_ him."

Clara suddenly felt something other than terror in her guts, "What did you do?"

Tony buried his face behind both hands now.

"Why is he like this!"

The man stood, dropped his hands and looked at her with an expressionless face, "I told him I had found a cure for the Hulk. I lied to him."

"Why?"

Tony suddenly burst out laughing hysterically. He put a fist over his mouth to try and stifle his chuckles, "Aliens," he said between breaths, "Are coming, again!"

"What are you talking about?"

He sobered, "I wanted to cure the Hulk. I meant to give Bruce a gift. I wanted to give him the choice to take it, talk about it, work on it together..."

"But?"

"Aliens. We need the Hulk."

"You sacrificed your friend?"

"I meant to allow him to transform at will! To not devolve into a 5 year old when we need him most!"

Clara wanted to scream at the man, profanities, insults, simple single syllable screams. Instead she took a really deep breath and turned toward the unmoving mass.

"What's wrong with him."

"A coma. I think. I don't know."

"Fix it."

"Well, surprisingly enough, I've tried that."

"You're not funny."

He shrugged.

They stood in silence for a while. Clara slowly approached the makeshift bed again, her eyes darting here and there over the inhuman body. When she finally managed to kneel down next to It - Him - Bruce, Tony spoke up.

"I'm sorry."

Clara sighed. It was not her place to accept or reject Tony's apology, but she would damned well make sure he repeated it to Bruce after this whole mess was solved. And solve itself it would!

"You have to keep trying to help him."

"I will, but I'm out of time. We're all out of time."

"You were serious then, about the aliens?"

"Yeah."

She tried nodding but found that her head was too heavy to pull up again and instead began to sob. The Hulk's arm stirred beside her and she jerked away, heart pounding in her chest, but he was still sleeping. Dreaming maybe.

"Oh Bruce..."

"You should go Clara, leave the city."

"What? No! I can't leave him like this. Down here."

"Listen, last time aliens came knocking at our doors this tower was in the middle of the action. Bruce, in this shape, can most likely survive a direct nuclear explosion. You though, not so much."

"You're not certain they'll be coming here?"

"It's New York, everyone comes here if they want to destroy the planet. Don't you watch movies?"

"Still not funny."

He made a childish grimace before pulling out his phone, "Okay, time to go. Up, up!"

"But -"

"No buts, out now!"

He came around and forced her to stand up.

"Isn't this a kind of bunker? Wouldn't we be safer down here?"

"Clara, if the Hulk wakes up, you'd regret not having been blown up."

She followed meekly after that. They returned to the lobby where Tony urged her once again to leave the city. She nodded, thinking of Sam's apartment and the old stuff she needed to move out from the place.

As she walked outside she tried calling her mother, but though she rang three times, no one answered.

This was when the first bomb fell.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Something was wrong.

He knew this as soon as he opened his eyes and gazed at the white ceiling. He lifted his arm and winced at the strange, unfamiliar sensation. Somehow he felt heavier and had to adjust the amount of strength needed to move his own hand.

He managed to lift his fingers high enough for him to look at them

And screamed.

Except that the sound which echoed through the small laboratory was not the scream of Bruce Banner, but the roar of a monster.

Distressed, he leapt out of bed, but his body was not responding as expected and somehow his limbs felt strangely disproportionate. He knocked his head against the ceiling and felt pieces of cement rain down on him. While turning to look around the cramped space his arms flailed wildly and various nearby machines went crashing down.

Finally he stopped completely and stood in the middle of the chaos.

He knew this room. Memories of Tony leading him, talking to him about a cure...jabbing him with something.

"Tony!"

His scream echoed loudly, but he received no answer. Bruce moved toward the door, measuring his steps, attempting not to fall over from the Hulk's different center of gravity. He was not surprised to find the door locked and sealed. He was also not surprised that when he placed his palm against the door and began to apply force, that the metal began to bent, give, and finally rip apart entirely.

The screech echoed against the walls of the otherwise empty basement floor. As he started toward the elevators, Bruce felt the ground shake and rumble. It stopped, then suddenly again, this time stronger.

Earthquakes would be continuous, this was short and violent.

Explosives.

He lengthened his strides, amazed by the power of his legs as two strides was enough to close the rest of the distance.

Standing in front of the elevator door and realizing that he was a good two heads too tall, he turned instead to the stairs. At first he attempted to walk them up one at a time, as he normally would, but his feet were too large, his legs straining against the small movements. He switched to three at a times, then five, and finally the last floor he skipped the steps entirely. He burst into the lobby of Stark Tower feeling empowered and not in the least out of breath.

Daylight flooded the empty entrance of the Tower. The receptionist's desk was empty, the security checkpoint was unmanned, and yet he could see that computers were still on behind the desk and the metal detectors and scanner were ready for use.

Bruce made his way to the exit and peered out into the street. Abandoned cars with opened doors littered the road, not a soul in sight.

This looked eerily familiar.

He stepped outside just as another bomb detonated, this time the rumble was loud and clear and he could hear the screams of thousands of people running scared in the distance. Taking a deep breath he began to run, slowly at first, his naked feet connecting with the pavement and yet registering no pain. Then faster, and faster, the Hulk's body filling with adrenaline, allowing him to push the limits which existed only in his head.

He felt an animalistic sense of drive and pleasure as he coursed through the New York street, leaping over cars, turning 90 degree corners without needing to slow down, sprinting past blocks in three or four strides at most. Bruce almost lost himself in the sheer pleasure of running.

And then he got hit.

He did not see where the bomb came from, or who shot him. He only registered being blown back into the opposite direction, a hundred feet into the air, and crashing down hard against a public bus. He was frozen for a moment, locked between the ruined metal shell of the vehicle. Had he been Bruce he would be dead, most likely in a million pieces.

He still expected to find blood, severed limbs, gushing wounds, ruined spinal cord - but he looked down at his toes and watched all ten move. His mind could register no pain side form potential bruising on his back. Finally he tensed his muscles like springs and leapt off the bus. Another fifty feet in the air, but this time he landed on his feet.

He roared.

It shocked him.

It felt great.

He looked around grinning, eager to do more!

Until he noticed the crater, destroyed automobiles, buildings, and he sobered. This was not a playing field. His eyes turned upward at the sound of buzzing and he was shocked to see flying jets looking exactly the same as the ones of the invading aliens Loki had let through. This time though they were not chasing him or any other Avengers, but another flying machine of a design he did not know.

They flew past him without stopping, engaged in their chase. Behind all of them, turning the corner, came one thing he did recognize: Iron Man.

Bruce bent his knees, kept his eyes on the target, calculated velocity, and just in time sprung upward with shocking force. He extended his arms, his fingers touched metal and gripped hard.

He landed back on the ground with Tony Stark securely in his arms.

Tony emanated a slew of surprised and angry curses as he fought to get free. Unwilling to try and see how the blasters would feel against his skin, Bruce threw him on the ground not too far away.

Iron Man picked himself up, dusted his armour and waited. When Bruce made no move to attack, his mask opened to reveal a very changed Tony Stark. Beard, exhaustion, some cuts above his left eye.

Bruce yelled at him, "What did you do to me!"

Tony's eye widened in shock, "Bruce?"

"Tell me, what you did."

"It's really you, isn't it? Shit. It worked! I...there really isn't any time right now. We have to stop them!"

Bruce growled.

"Okay, that's new, that's...did you just growl at me?"

Another series of flying alien crafts zoomed above their heads, chasing each other, weaving around the New York skyscrapers.

"What are they doing here again?"

"Those aren't Loki's army. They're SHIELD."

"What?"

"Yeah, the bastards have been working on this tech for months. Look, it's a long story, and if we live through this I will admit that I sincerely regret not telling you before, and I'll say I'm truly sorry for what I did to you."

"But only if we live."

"That's right. Now, are you going to help me stop this mess?"

Bruce nodded, "Just point me to the new aliens, and I'll smash."

"What? No, no, no! Urgh, you've got it all wrong. We have to stop SHIELD!" Bruce stared at him with a frown, Tony grunted, "Just follow me."

Iron Man pulled his mask down once more and blew off into the air. Confused, but willing to follow his friend, Bruce sprinted after him. They covered a few blocks of distance, there were people here now, running in all directions or just watching them with gaping mouths. A few had their mobiles out and were filming the carnage.

When the golden red suit of armour began to ascend, Bruce hesitated. Climbing the buildings would mean destroying quite a few windows and property. Then again, alien invasion was probably a good enough reason to suffer minor collateral damage.

As he took his first leap and clung to the side of the building though, the word "minor" evaporated. Heaving this body upward might have very well been more damaging than an actual attack. Still, he kept going.

He arrived on top of the building and stopped short. Hovering above the city, not too far away, was a large spaceship. It looked like cockroach and was pure black in colour. Around it were dozens of SHIELD jets and dozens more of the ship's own flying crafts. Shots were being fired on all sides.

Iron Man landed beside him.

"I'm sorry Tony, but you're going to have to explain why you want us to stop SHIELD."

"Because she says so."

Bruce turned to where Tony was pointing, an adjacent building on top of which stood a woman. He squinted, blinked, then focused again. This was not possible.

Tony explained, "SHIELD opened fire first. She says the aliens, the Skrulls, aren't here to invade or attack at all."

"That's Clara's mother."

His friend raised an eyebrow, "Well buddy, I hate to break it to you. But if that's true, then your girlfriend's an alien."

He turned to Tony in horror, but then remembered, "It's her adoptive mother. But how do you know they're not here to invade? What did she say to convince you?"

"Her? Nothing, actually. There is the other fact that they sent over a dozen ship 'round the planet, and everywhere humans did not just open fire and try to gun them down, they just came out and wanted talked. She claims they're here looking for scouts they sent over fifty years ago, and she's the only one left."

"What happened to the others?"

"Apparently they got taken out. She doesn't know who did it, my bet is on SHIELD. They knew too much about the Skrulls long before the ship was detected."

"Which ship? This one?"

"No, these are too small. Something much bigger, must still be up there."

Suddenly a shadow appeared overhead and Bruce looked up in panic. But instead of one of the jets or crafts, he saw a strange humanoid figure with four huge insectoid wings. The creature hovered for a second before letting itself fall on the roof. And as it did so it changed, so that by the time it straightened itself out and stood up, he was staring at Clara's mother.

"Mrs. Larson..."

She frowned at him, "You look familiar."

He hesitated, Tony did not, "That's Bruce Banner, I think he's dating your daughter."

She raised a single blond eyebrow, "Oh. Yes we've met. Is this...are you...you're human, yes?"

"Not really the time or place to evaluate the boyfriend. Have you been able to contact your people?"

"No, I'm sorry. If I fly in that mess I'll get shot down. And I destroyed all means of tracking and communication devices a long time ago."

Bruce frowned, "It's a very poor scout who can't ever report in again."

"It was that or be plucked like the rest of my crew. I figured they caught the first scout and used their technology to track the others. This planet was supposed to have had no contact with extraterrestrial races or technology..."

"That didn't work out well for you, now did it?"

"I still don't understand what your purpose on Earth is."

The sound of explosions nearby interrupted them and the woman clicked her tongue in annoyance, "Might shock you, but we're just here to make friends. We go out, meet new races, incorporate them in the Empire, share our knowledge."

"You're right, that does shock me."

Bruce glared at Tony, but the man shrugged, "It does!"

"Alright, say we believe you. What do you need us to do in order to stop this?"

She shrugged, "Reason with whoever is behind this attack?"

He thought of Nick Fury and felt all hope fade away immediately. Tony voiced his thoughts: "Yeah, not going to happen. So what else can we do?"

Unfortunately she seemed out of ideas.

Suddenly the sky lit up for a split second before the terrible sound of a massive detonation reached their ears. A second after that a wave of compressed air sent both the woman and Tony to the ground while Bruce managed to fall to one knee only. He covered his face reflexively, and only when he removed did he see with horror that the large Skrull vessel had been struck.

In its left side there was now a huge smoking crater and immediately it began to lose altitude. Around it jets and crafts sped away from the crashing mass of metal. It managed to avoid smashing directly into any building, though if on purpose or accident it was hard to tell. It seemed to be trying to land on one of the larger avenues, using it as a tarmac.

"Let's go."

Bruce was not quite sure which of them made the order, but in a flash all three were in the air and rushing toward the crash site. He felt his stomach lurch as he fell from the hundred stories high building, but he landed on the rooftop of the next one with minimal effort. He ran the short distance to the opposite edge and leaped once again.

They arrived at the site to find it oddly deserted. Only the black ship lying lifeless on the ground. He landed with the other two in the middle of the street and looked around, but no sign of neither SHIELD jets nor flying crafts.

"Now what?"

But as the words left Tony's mouth, the portion of the vessel facing them suddenly hissed and cracked open. A door fell clunkily against the asphalt and out poured a few dozen bipedal figures, most helmets and suits on, though some without and Bruce could see their strange faces. Reptilian they seemed, with large black eyes taking up most of their skull. What might have been oddly shaped ears, framed the side of their heads, and they were all of them quite bald.

Only a few seemed to carry weapons, many looked injured. They spread out into the street at random, some behaved so oddly that Bruce was certain they were suffering from shock or concussions. One figure stood out from the rest, it was wearing a bright blue uniform with several shining buttons along both sleeves. Around it five sharp looking fellows stood with guns at the ready.

Bruce knew a leader when he saw one.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Bruce Banner as the Hulk.

Even though Tony had planned for exactly this to happen, he still felt a sense of wrongness every time the beast opened his mouth, and with a guttural voice, conveyed Bruce's words. All the power of the world in one body, and this time along with one of the most intelligent minds.

Tony had potentially created the most fearsome creature the world had ever seen. Luckily for the planet, Bruce was a kind and generous soul.

Still, depending on how this entire situation turned out, it might be best if certain people did not become aware of Bruce's current situation. If SHIELD and the army had wanted to exploit Bruce's power in the past, they would wet themselves in excitement if they knew Tony had now developed a way for the Hulk to keep his wits about when transforming.

All of this was going through Tony's mind as he stood in front of crowd of aliens in the middle of New York city, with a green beast and a blond woman at his side.

Approaching them was a group of armed guards and an important looking fellow who must be their leader. He turned to Mrs. Larson, "Don't you think it would have been a good idea to send a message in advance by the way? Some kind of hello, we come in peace?"

It was the apparent leader who answered him, "We did do this thing. Many messages we send. But no reply. Signal blocking, perhaps."

"English! Good. If SHIELD got hold of your communication devices, it's possible they used the information to block your people's signal. But why?"

Bruce growled, Tony took a generous step to the side, just to be sure, but the beast simply pointed upward. From multiple directions both alien crafts and SHIELD jets began to swarm in the sky. Projectiles flew in all directions, and the grounded aliens scuttled for cover.

"We need to take down the SHIELD forces, Bruce make sure these people get to safety."

Tony blasted into the air a second after, looking down just to make sure his order was being followed. He still somehow expected the Hulk to lose it and start smashing about. But Bruce accompanied the leader its entourage to a nearby building, before turning around to pick up a few injured aliens and carrying them to shelter.

He focused on his surrounding just in time to avoid oncoming shots. He could not tell who had fired or if they had been aiming at him at all. The first SHIELD jet he took down gave him confidence that he might be able to finish this off with minimal death.

Flying as fast as he could in as straight line, the jet made to turn left around a building, but Tony intercepted him and gripped the driver off the vehicle. Something ripped, most likely a safety line, and the machine went swerving down the ground. The agent in his arms struggled for a moment, then seemed to think better of it and stilled until Tony was able to drop the man on the ground.

As soon as his feet his asphalt the agent pulled out a gun.

"I don't think so."

He balled his hand into a fist and punched the man over the head. Instant knockout.

Blasting off into the air again, he located another jet, this time it was being chased by three Skrull crafts. Knowing this one would definitely mean crossfire, he nevertheless sped upward and advanced on the chase. After a moment he was flying side to side with one of the Skrull and tried to get the alien's attention.

The crafts were shaped much like a miniature version of the larger ship, and the Skrull drivers were forced to lie on their stomachs to control them. Somewhat like a racing motorcycle. The pilot next to him turned his head slightly, indicating that he noticed Tony. With one hand he indicated the SHIELD jet, then pointed at himself, the Skrull did not react at first, but after a moment he nodded and pulled away.

The other two followed a moment later. Now alone after the jet, Tony sped up until he couch touch the collar of the agent. His fingers tightened and a second later he yanked the pilot off the jet. When dropped down on the ground, this one simply fell to his butt and stared up at him.

"Good boy."

Two down.

"JARVIS how many agents are left?"

"An estimate number of 20 are currently in the area."

Despite the suit doing most of the work, Tony would not be able to keep up the pace. He was about to try and think of another solution when a green mass appeared in his field of vision to collect two SHIELD jets from the air. He watched as Bruce picked up both pilots, dropped them on the ground, and proceeded to crush the jets neatly together.

He hated to say it, but the Hulk was being less destructive than he was.

He also laughed out loud when Bruce turned to the pilots and roared with all his might, sending both figures scrambling for cover. The doctor was enjoying himself.

Tony was about to find another target when he was hit from behind. He spiralled down, unable to stabilize his suit, and crashed into the lower stories of a nearby building.

Attempting to stand up, he stumbled when trying to move his left leg. He looked down but could see no obvious damage. He looked up through the crashed window he had come through and saw the jet aligning itself for more shots.

"JARVIS! What's wrong?"

"Connection to the lower leg motors has been lost. Attempting to bypass the affected circuits."

The jet was was approaching, as if wanting to make extra sure not to miss its shot.

"Bypass faster!"

"Reconnecting, motors online -"

But it was too late, Tony braced for impact. There was the sound and heat of an explosion. But when he opened his eyes, he saw one of the alien crafts in front of the damaged building wall, and the SHIELD jet tumbling to the ground beyond that.

The Skrull in the craft nodding its head, and he waved a hand as a thanks.

His leg was moving again, and he leaped into the air. Bruce was still at it, bouncing from the ground upward like a hunting spider catching moths.

"He's gotten used to that body quickly."

"As you have mentioned yourself sir, Bruce and the Hulk are but one being."

The enemy forces were thinning, each SHIELD jet now had at least five of the Skrulls chasing after them, making Tony's presence somewhat superfluous. But just as he was about to land on the ground again, a deafening roar echoed against the buildings, followed by the sound of more explosions.

"That's not good..."

He turned to see a monstrous creature almost exactly like the ones which had invaded through the wormhole come right at him. This version was different in the fact that guns of various types had been lain across the body and each was manned. Tony cut all power to his thrusters and fell like a rock, above him he was a volley of bullets fly by. He reinitiated the propulsion system and flew straight toward Bruce. The giant was looking at the oncoming threat with an opened jaw and Tony had to remind himself that for Bruce all of this was new.

The hissing of projectiles followed him until he finally managed to get close enough for Bruce turn into a meat shield. Not hesitating for an instant, the doctor folded his arms around Tony's comparatively small body and turned his bad toward the enemy.

It took several seconds, during which he and the Hulk were the target of multiple machine guns and a few high caliber cannons, before the ship moved out of range behind the buildings. But Bruce did not move away. Tony began to worry, he struggled to get free from the beast's hug.

Finally the green arms gave away and Bruce took a faltering step back.

"Are you alright?"

The other man shook his head as if to get something out of his ear, "Yeah, just...bit stunned."

"We need to get that thing down."

Bruce nodded, "As long as the bullets aren't aimed at me, I believe I can do enough damage to ground it."

Tony winced, "JARVIS are we still up for some decoy flying?"

"I would not recommend it with the current circuit prob -"

"Sounds good, let's go."

He blasted into the air and headed in the direction the SHIELD ship had disappeared to. Bruce followed closely on the ground. As he turned a corner he noticed something in the corner of his eye, a figure which seemed somewhat familiar, he had recognized the clothing.

It was only a few blocks later that he realized who the person which had been running hectically into the direction of the Skrulls was.

Clara.

But it was too late to worry about the woman now. He could see the ship, and they him. He swerved to the left just as the first bullets arrived and managed to escape the first three waves intact. As he came closer though he began to hear the pings of metal attempting to penetrate his armour. He pushed his suit to go faster, and whizzed about the giant shape in daredevil zigzags. JARVIS began droning on about the dangers of keeping it up, but Tony turned a deaf ear to his warnings.

Suddenly he was hit by something big, and he dove right into the side of the ship. JARVIS was gone for a moment, the lights in his mask flickering until the AI came back to life. Still it was not enough to prevent him from crashing into an abandoned car.

He felt blood dripping in his eye, and his entire body hurt. Knowing that the next few weeks would probably see him bed ridden, he still forced himself to stand up, turn around, and witness Bruce Banner be assaulted by what looked like a giant wall of bullets. That anyone, or anything, could survive this kind of devastation was terrifying.

Yet the green man only buckled to one knee under the assault, as if weighed down by the stream. Tony aimed and began to fire at the guns. He missed more than he hit, but still he managed to get their attention. The Hulk was able to move again, and in one impressive leap he landed on the ship.

It was like watching a giant among ants.

SHIELD agents began turning their guns inward, shooting not only at the Hulk, but each other. The chaos which ensued made Tony seriously wonder if Bruce Banner was in charge of the body. When people began to be thrown off the now faltering ship onto the city below, he swallowed hard.

What had he unleashed?

JARVIS announced that he was now quite unable to fly, but it mattered little. The ghastly ship was losing altitude, and it hit the ground almost gently. Whatever Bruce had done, it had at least minimized damage to the city. He had lost sight of the green beast in the havok, and he was shocked to see him emerge from the bowels of the ship itself - having punched a hole big enough to fit through.

The doctor approached him, panting.

"It won't fly ever again. This time."

Tony simply nodded.

They walked back in direction of the Skrull spaceship. It took a few minutes without his thrusters, and when they finally came in sight of the crash site, a scene he did not expect welcomed them.

A screaming Clara was being held up by what seemed to be a large coiling snake with the torso of the Skrull leader.

Tony cursed.

Bruce roared.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Clara was terrified.

And she was not the only one.

Squeezed between the bodies of a hundred other panicked New York citizens, she was being swept away in the sea of mindless humans attempting to survive. Not that Clara would have had much of a better idea of where to go had these people not been here, but she now had to worry about other dangers, like falling down.

A million times while being pushed, and pulled and stumbling, she thanked whatever god there might exist that she was wearing sneakers that day. When one of these sneakers came in contact with the trampled body of a fallen woman, she screamed.

The sound was drowned by the whimpers and cries of the crowd around her. No one else seemed to notice the woman, no one else seemed to notice anything.

Above them the sky was falling.

Debris, bullets, entire flying machines came raining down onto the street. She watched as a young boy was crushed under a falling piece of cement and looked up to see various shapes in the sky chasing each other.

And Iron Man after them.

It worried her that the group of people seemed to be heading in the same direction as Tony. She looked over her shoulder, but there were too many people to think about turning around. She would have to succomb to the hive mind for now, until she could make a break.

Luckily as they advanced through the street, people began to use any unlocked doors to find refuge inside. After a few blocks there was enough shoulder room for her to squeeze herself in a direction of her choosing, and a few more meters after that she stumbled out of the mass.

And into the Hulk.

His giant green legs crashed against the pavement barely five meters away from her, and she watched as he ran at inhuman speed in the same direction as Tony.

"Bruce!"

But he was gone. Had probably not noticed her at all. Would the Hulk even recognize her? Tony had mentioned something about her being trampled had she stayed in the bunker, she could hardly imagine that Bruce would hurt her though.

It was foolish, and a terrible idea, and she knew that even with sneakers the likelihood of coming out of it unharmed was almost null.

Yet she began to run after him.

She felt like a snail in comparison. He disappeared from view almost immediately, turning a corner at high speed like it was nothing. But she persisted. After three blocks she was reduced to walking, and had to admit that she was completely lost.

There was no Bruce in sight.

In fact there was hardly anyone in sight.

That was when she heard it. The sound of a terrible explosion, and the continuous rumble which followed. She stood in the middle of the avenue, alone, and watched as a black cylindrical spaceship came crash landing in her direction.

She did not move at first.

And then suddenly as if shocked, she jolted to the side and sprinted toward one of the nearby buildings. She managed to leap inside the doors before the windows behind her shattered in a million pieces. The ground shook violently and she lost balance. Her skin prickled and itched, her back felt like it was on fire.

When she managed to stand again, half deaf, she winced at the sight of blood. The glass had torn her clothes in multiple places and the tiny glass shards had lacerated her skin. Her lip was swollen as well and she must have knocked her head on the floor because she felt strangely dizzy.

Clara was about to stumble outside again, attempting to find somewhere safer, then she saw Tony and Bruce approaching the ship.

And with them was someone she recognized.

Her mother.

She almost stepped out then, wanting to call after them. But the ship began to make a strange noise, some kind of hatch fell to the floor, and aliens came pouring out.

And suddenly it was just too much, in pain and afraid for her life, she turned her back to the scene and looked around the building she had landed it in.

It was a jewelry store, or used to be. She limped toward the counter and fell to the floor behind it. Gathering her knees to her chest she stared into nothingness and waited. No sound of fighting reached her ears, she frowned.

Still silence. Voices maybe.

Why had her mother been there?

Had she just been seeing things?

With shaking hands she reached into her pockets and pulled out her phone. But the display was shattered, unreadable. Frustrated, she threw the thing away as far as she could and fought back tears.

When the sound of yelling, gunfire and approaching footsteps reached her, Clara covered her ears and closed her eyes, trying to make herself as small as possible. A deep gruff voice ordered someone to stay here.

"Thank you, Bruce."

She recognized the female voice immediately.

Clara cracked opened one eye, and then the other. Slowly, she uncurled her knees and took down her hands from her head. She could hear strange hissing now, different pitches, various tones, melodious almost. Carefully she sat up, then rested on her knees, and raised herself slightly so as to peer over the countertop.

Aliens. Lizard-like, with an elongated skull and scaly skin. She stifled a scream. Her skin crawled and the hair behind her neck rose. She was about to recede back to the ground when she noticed her mother.

She was standing amongst them and seemed to be speaking with a rather fancily dressed alien.

"Mom?"

The entire room turned to her as she stood from behind the counter.

"Primrose?"

"What are you doing here?"

Her mother looked to the taller alien she had been talking to, but this one seemed able to offer no support. Clara frowned, "I called you, you never answered. You were suppose to pick me up!"

"I'm so sorry Prim -"

"DONT! Call me that."

She moved away from the counter, and into the room, keeping an eye on the other creatures. But they kept their distance, and their weapons pointed somewhere else. Clara needed to get out of this place.

The alien in blue uniform suddenly said, in English, "Is this your offspring?"

The two women answered simultaneously.

"No."

"Yes."

She glared, "She's not my real mother."

The older woman winced. Clara was beyond feeling remorse.

Stepping past the other aliens, past her mother, and toward the door. She needed to be out!

"This is poor way to treat your parent."

Clara snapped around and pointed a finger at the creature, ready to yell at it. But her voice caught in her throat, she choked, blinked, felt faint.

Instead of Mrs. Germina Larson, blond hair, blue eyes and all, stood her mother. Her real mother. The woman who had died when Clara had been barely six years old. Dark luscious hair, small nose, short, she looked like an older version of Clara. There could be no mistake that the two were related.

As if it would explain everything, make the entire mess alright again, and fix Clara's childhood, the new woman simply stated: "Skrulls are shapeshifters."

She could not breathe, "I don't...you're not...it's fake?"

The woman shook her head, "You are my daughter. This body, this identity, had to die all those years ago. I staged my own death. People were after me, Primrose, people who would have done you and your father harm!"

Clara was shaking her head. She felt even more dizzy than before, nauseous even. She stumbled backward, bumped into one of the aliens and jerked away. Reorienting herself until she found the shattered door, and rushed outside. Footsteps followed her, she wanted to get away but her foot caught against debris and she fell to her knees.

Tears began to stream down her face. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned expecting to see her mother, one of her mothers, but instead it was the blue uniform creature.

"My name is Nv'Myl. Your mother broke something in you. When you were younger."

My heart, was all Clara could think about.

But Nv'Myl turned her large black eyes to Clara's mother who appeared at her side. The dark haired woman nodded before hanging her head, as if ashamed.

"I had to. They'd have taken her too, I had to."

There was a hiss from Nv'Myl, this one sounded quite angry, "We are Skrull! To stop her from being Skrull, is shame."

She was shaking her head again, refusing to understanding what they were saying, "I'm not, no. No, no, no...no!"

She looked toward her mother with pleading eyes, but the woman ignored her. Nv'Myl moved to touch her again and Clara scrambled away. She turned and managed to get to her feet, but before she could start running something slid against her waist and she was suddenly up in the air.

Screaming, she punched and kicked, but still she was moved upward and back. She was suddenly turned around and her screams turned into silent shock. Nv'Myl's face was now staring directly at her, but her lower body had changed. As if transformed into a gigantic snake creature, she had coiled herself around Clara and pushed their a few meters off the ground.

Clara felt her arms being encircled, and as much as she tried to push back, Nv'Myl's body was too strong. A moment later she was motionless, unable to move anything but her head and feet.

With both arms still intact, Nv'Myl reached toward Clara again. This time there was nothing she could do but scream.

And scream she did.

She was vaguely aware of yelling in the background, and a terrible roar. But Clara could only see the aliens' hands moving toward her head, closer and closer until they touched her. And more than that, she felt the strangely elongated fingers penetrate her skull. There was no pain, but the feeling of invasion and a strange pressure in the front of her head.

Suddenly it stopped.

The noise, the constriction against her body, the feeling in her head - she fell to the ground like a chiffon doll, but felt nothing. No pain. For a terrible moment she thought she was dead, or dying. But lying on her back she could still see the sky, blue, and the top of the nearby skyscrapers. The colours seemed sharper, the angles of the buildings strange. From the corner of her eye, and yet in focus, she saw her mother approach her.

Then she heard her name, from a deep and unfamiliar voice, "Clara?"

Painstakingly, she rolled on her stomach, then pushed herself on all four, and then sat on her legs - and stared at her hands.

Scaly, pointy, three fingers and one thumb. She turned them around, and then again. Confused, she looked up to see the Hulk and Iron Man standing side by side, looking down at her. She reached up to touch her face, and recoiled. Again, and she almost stuck a finger in her eye.

"Well...I told you so, Bruce," she heard Tony say.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue was all wrong, her teeth...missing. Her jaw was not in the right shape. The sound she managed to make might have emanated from a tortured deformed creature. She snapped her lips shut.

"You're alright sweetie, you're good."

She turned and glared at her mother. She doubted any muscle on her face moved the way she intended, but still she willed the glare so intently that her mother stopped. There were so many things she wanted to scream at her, but instead she stood, her legs wobbling.

Slowly and with humiliating tumbles, she began to walk away.

Clara felt Bruce reach for her, but she jerked away and began to run. She knew he could catch her in a moment, but still she needed to get away. At that moment there was a commotion, the sound of engines, she turned to see a single black jet turning the corner toward the assembled group. It was not flying very straight, but did not look damaged. She could see the driver, a black man with what seemed to be a patch over one eye.

The distraction was enough for her to run away.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_2 weeks later_

Bruce knocked on the door once, twice, three times and still no one answered. He was certain she was inside and simply refused to see him.

Or anyone.

With a sigh he reached into his pocket and produced a key. It fit neatly into the door's lock and turned without a problem. He opened the door slowly, announcing his presence loudly just to make sure he would not surprise her at an inconvenient moment.

But he needed to make sure she was ok.

Still she did not call back. He stepped inside and was appalled by the sight before him. The usually tidy and almost manically neat apartment was in shambles. Shoes and coats had been thrown in disarray on the floor, dishes were piled up high on the kitchen counter and in the sink, garbage littered the floor, but most of all there were books - everywhere.

Taking slow and careful steps, Bruce examined some of the rather large and scientific looking press. As he progressed through the loft he saw titles of all sorts from biology, to physics, multiple human anatomy tomes and even more encyclopedia of animal physiology.

In the living room he found carton boxes piled on top of each other, a few of which were opened. They seemed to contain clothes, non perishable food items, toiletries. He frowned and examined the top of one of the closed one, it had Sam's name on it.

"Clara?"

He listened, but nothing still. She was not in her bedroom, bathroom or living room. He was about to give up and admit that maybe he had been terribly wrong and she was not home, when he noticed that the rooftop door was open.

Bruce climbed up and emerged outside to find a figure sitting at the dining table. He took one more step toward the person, a woman with huge headphones on her head, before he recoiled in horror.

Staring at him, sunglasses in hands and wide-eyed, was Sam.

She ripped off the headpiece and leaped off her chair. She was wearing a tiny two piece bathing suit which revealed her exotic dark skin, elongated legs and generous bosom. Still he backed away from the attractive woman.

"You are dead. I saw you die. I held you, as you died!

"No, Bruce, this isn't -"

"Clara thinks you are dea...does she know you're alive? Did she know all along?!"

He could not believe it, would not. He had seen the pain in his friend's face when Sam had died, had comforted and suffered with her. If it had somehow all been a farce...

"I'm not Sam!"

Just as he frowned and his mind began to consider possibilities of mistaken identities or twins, the woman in front of him began to change. It was subtle at first, skin colour changing, hair growing; and then bigger and faster changes, limbs shortening, facial structures re-adjusting, until Sam was gone and Clara stood in her place.

Bruce was gaping.

"Hi."

"There are...no words, for how morally questionable that was!"

She cringed. Bruce noticed how exhausted the woman appeared, sunken and pale. She was slumped and staring at her hands while her fingers picked at the skin around her nails.

"Why would you?"

Her voice broke as she explained, but she managed to speak through the sobbing, "I just wanted to see her! She left, so quickly. It was too sudden, Bruce, I couldn't deal. And then I thought, if I could just be her for a bit, then maybe it would be easier. I miss her so much."

He sighed, rubbed his face with one hand and peered at the broken woman in front of him. Against his will he was distracted by the now too large bathing suit. Taking off his jacket, he stepped closer and pulled it over her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze as he did so.

"I get it."

She wrapped the material around herself and looked up. Bruce could not ignore the shallowness of her cheeks, "When's the last time you ate anything?"

She shrugged.

"Come on, let's get you dressed and fed."

He took her hand and helped her down the spiral staircase. When she asked about the key he showed her Mrs. Larson's copy, she did not comment. She willingly walked to the bedroom on her own while he headed for the kitchen. The place was foul. The fridge mostly empty, but luckily he found some ready made meals in the freezer. He fired up the oven before opening the dishwasher and throwing in as many dishes as he could fit.

Clara emerged wearing baggy pants and shirt, and sat down on a bench at the counter. She was silent for some time, watching him tidy up her kitchen, playing with the edge of her sleeves. Finally she asked, "What happened to my mother?"

"She went back with her own people."

The young woman nodded, turned her face away and wiped away her tears quickly, "I always thought my mother had died in car accident. Hit and run. My entire life I hated the driver which had killed her, this anonymous face who had taken her away. And it turns out, she killed herself. Destroyed her own identity and came back as new, as if that would fix anything!"

Bruce stopped bustling about and breathed in deeply, "My mother was killed when I was very young. By my father. Actually he was trying to kill me, she got in the way."

She stared at him, her brow furrowed, "Oh Bruce. I'm sorry."

"Me too. And she did, indeed, use to garden; made these beautiful flower beds around our house. I'd help water them every morning."

They were silent for a while after that, unmoving. Finally, Clara spoke.

"I can turn into a bird."

"Did you fly?"

"Yeah. It was amazing."

Bruce came around the counter to stand in front of her, she had to look up from her sitting position to see his face. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his palm, she closed her eyes and leaned heavily into it.

With his thumb he stroked her skin.

Slowly he bent his head down toward hers.

And after all the weeks, the dates, the talks, the deaths and drama.

Finally.

A kiss.

**The End**

**Author's Note: **Like all proper Marvel stories, stay tuned after the credits for the secret scene!


	21. Chapter 21

**Credits**

Dear Readers,

it has been an absolute pleasure posting these chapters and completing the story of Bruce and Clara. I love Bruce Banner, as portrayed by Joss Whedon and Mark Ruffalo, and I simply had to write him in a fanfiction.

Clara came as a surprise character to me. I enjoy writing ambiguous people who you often don't read about, and fleshing her out was a real challenge, but worth it I think.

Their "romantic" story ended up much sweeter than first expected actually, slow and awkward and complicated. But I think for two very different, and yet by the end similar, characters, it was the only way to go.

On that note, I have to once again thank a few people:

Lisa

Steph

Sebi

Erik

Dean

Thomas

You guys are the best of friends. Thanks.

And a million thanks for the special readers who take the time to leave a review. As much as I learned that writing should be about myself and my pride in the work I accomplish, reviews still warm the heart every single time.

To the silent readers, thanks for sticking around.

To all the followers and people who tagged this as a favourite story: 3

Again, to all,

Thank You.

-Manny

* * *

After Credit Marvel Tradition

* * *

Nick Fury felt like shit.

As he sat in Tony Stark's luxurious living room watching people stand up, stretch and shake off the past three hours of debriefing, he could not help but dream of sleep. Whenever he made it back to his bed he would crash and not move for a couple of days.

The past few weeks had seen him go through hell and back.

"Alright then Fury, I'll send you what I've got so far. But whoever's in charge of SHIELD right now, they're doing a better job than you at hiding their files. Quite the takeover."

Fury shrugged, he had nothing to add to what had already been said. He knew nothing.

His attention was also captured by the other two people in the room who had moved toward the bar. The woman, Clara, and Bruce Banner.

Since entering the room, he had picked up on multiple signals which indicated that the two were somehow involved. Nothing physical, they had sat apart and even now stood at a respectable distance from each other.

But it was the way they seemed aware of the other's position in the room at all times. The way their eyes met once too often to be called a coincidence. How the corner of their mouths twitched slightly when looking at each other.

And most telling, how she prepared for him a drink without once having to ask what he wanted.

"Fury?"

He turned back to Stark.

"Sounds good. I'll get back to you in a few days then."

"Has anyone mentioned you look like shit lately?"

He stared at the man, unamused.

Stark threw his hands up in the air, "Just saying!"

"If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way."

He stood, shook hands with Stark, waved to the couple, but only got a curt nod from Banner. He was not going very far. Having nowhere to go and being hunted by SHIELD, he was forced to stay in a hotel near Stark Tower.

With a slight limp he hurried to his temporary residence, not wanting to spend more time than necessary on the street. Once inside he quickly made his way to the bathroom, closed the door, and double checked again for signs of monitoring devices.

Nick Fury was exhausted.

But it was not because of the debriefing. Nor was it because of stress from SHIELD having been infiltrated. Neither did it have anything to do with his two months stay in jail after being overthrown.

Nick Fury was not tired for any of these reasons, because Nick Fury, the real one, was dead.

The man standing in front of the bathroom mirror, who reached up and took off his eyepatch and blinked too good eyes at his reflection, was not the same man who had come crashing down on the street of New York a couple of weeks ago.

That man, the real Nick Fury, had been severely injured. Babbling incomprehensive sentences in a half-daze, that man had been taken inside the Skrull ship with the promise of advance healing. His wounds had been too severe however, and instead of healing, his mind was read, the truth perceived, and the Skrull had made a decision.

Nick Fury had died. But still he walked out of the ship before it departed the Earth.

In order to keep an eye on the humans, and evaluate their level of threat to the Skrull empire, and discover who had taken a hold of SHIELD, a Skrull agent had been elected to stay behind. This Skrull had to be someone who knew humans. Who had lived with them for years. Who knew their speech, habits and culture.

But assuming another shape, a new one, and keep it for not only days, but weeks, even months on end, was an exhausting endeavor. Few Skrulls could do it.

But she could.

And this was the real reason why Mrs. Larson was tired.


End file.
